


Broken Crown

by Ellies



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Berenger is secretely gay for Ancel, Canonical Character Death, Damen is broken, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jord is a nurse, Laurent is soft, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, They are not enemies though, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellies/pseuds/Ellies
Summary: Damen's father unexpectedly dies and he is stripped of everything - his heritage, his home, his family.When he gives up, Laurent finds him.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 74





	1. Little Lion Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so this is my first fan fiction in this Fandom and the first fanfic in English. It's not my first language so, if you notice some errors, please tell me!
> 
> I started with modern AU and angst because I love making the characters I like suffer. And I like Damen and Laurent a lot.

Damen put the keys in the main door of his apartment building, rushing his way into the building to escape the cold drizzle that had started to fall. He quickly climbed the flights of stairs and arrived in front of the door of his flat. He tried to open the door, but the key wouldn’t go in. Damen frowned and tried again. 

_What the fuck?_

Damen didn’t understand what was going on. Had he mistaken the building? But the front door opened. That made no sense. 

He sat on the stairs, disoriented, and was about to call his father when another incoming call made his phone ring. He looked at the ID: Kastor. 

“Thank God, Kastor!” he almost shouted. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with my keys, but I can’t open the door. Can you bring me your spare keys?” 

“Damianos,” his brother said, his voice barely a whisper. 

Damen felt the hair on his body stand up. He never called him that. Damianos. 

“What? What happened? Where are you?” he said, panicking and running don the stairs to get his car. “If you tell me where you are, I’ll come to get you.” 

“Damianos, father is dead” said Kastor, and Damen froze on the last steps with his phone loose in his hand, almost falling. 

“What?” he laughed dryly. “What?” 

He couldn’t think. His heart pounded like mad, his mind was fogged, slow, and he couldn’t think anything but “what is he saying?” 

“Kastor, is this a joke?” he shouted, tears prickling at the corners of his eye, his throat tight. “How can he be… how can he be dead?” 

“You know he was very weak in the past weeks and-” 

“He wasn’t even close to dying, Kastor!” he cried, tear falling freely on his cheeks. He was nearly sobbing. 

“He vas very weak and today… they found him this morning, in his office. A heart attack. His body couldn’t take it.” 

“This morning? I… why are we even talking about it on the phone? I want to see him.” Damen said, opening the door of his car and fastening the seat belt. 

“We can’t. They transferred his body to the morgue. And… the lawyer read his will” 

“This is crazy. Why can’t we see him? What the fuck is happening? What the will has to do with this?” he screamed. His brain couldn’t take any more information. 

“He disinherited you,” said Kastor, his voice plain. He seemed almost annoyed of Damen’s questions, like it wasn’t his fucking right to understand what was happening. 

“You’re kidding,” said Damen, laughing dryly, again. It was a stupid joke – a terrible, stupid joke – and his father would take Kastor’s place on the phone and tell him that his brother was just joking. But it didn’t happen, and the other end of the phone there was silence. “Kastor, tell me you are joking.” 

“I’m sorry Damen,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “He modified his will a month ago. He wrote that… if he were to die, you wouldn’t inherit anything. Your differences, your points of view for the future of the company… they were too wide. He didn’t trust you anymore.” 

Damen’s heart sank, and let his head collapse on the headrest. Kastor kept talking. “In the moment he died, he took everything from you. Your house, your bank account, your name. I’m sorry, Damen.” Kastor said again, and Damen shook his head. 

“What are you talking about? He never… he wouldn’t do something like that. We- we were talking, we were _planning_. I can’t believe he did that while we were planning our future. He’d never lie to me like that.” 

“I’m-” 

“Stop saying that,” he said abruptly. “Listen… can we meet? We can talk about this, how to deal with dad’s death and… and the company. I will give you my part, I never wanted that.” 

“You don’t have a quote of the company anymore, do you understand this?” 

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Damen said, trying to steady his breath. His lungs were trying to squeeze out every single millilitre of air they still had inside. He could feel his heart pumping, his head heavy. He felt sick. 

“I- I have to go. The lawyers are calling me. I’ll text you later.” he said, and a click told him that Kastor had hung up the call. 

Damen closed his eyes. He couldn’t help thinking about the last time he had spoken to his father. It was yesterday’s evening. They had dinner together and then drank some old liquor in the living room of his family house. They were laughing over a joke that Damen had heard at the movies, and then his father had smiled, a tender smile he hadn’t seen in so many years. 

“You know, some time ago I wanted you to be my heir in the company. But today, you finally showed me that my stubbornness and my anger were only for myself. Our company has been ours for a long time, my father and his father before him created a business, and I couldn’t do anything but follow. I can’t even remember if there was a time when I wanted something else,” he sighed, a little breathless, but continued. “But now I know what I want from you. Kastor can lead the company, he’s suited for it. I think you’d be even more, but I won’t force you any longer.” 

Damen hadn’t known what to say. They had never spoken like this, with their hearts open to each other to see, never expressed their feelings. He almost felt overwhelmed. 

“Thank you, dad” he never called him like that, either. Not in front of him. “That means so much to me, I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Theomedes said, standing up. “Have some sleep, we’ll talk tomorrow.” 

Damen had gone home shortly after that. But tomorrow never came. 

In his head, nothing made sense. It was like his father and who wrote his will were two completely different person. Like Kastor was talking about another man, so different from the one who left the previous night. He wasn’t talking about his father. 

Yet, here he was. He only had the car he was sitting in, his wallet, phone, keys and gym bag. His world was this big tin can running out of fuel, his only shelter in Ios’ coldest autumn ever. 

**Ω**

When he opened his eyes again, it was night, and he was freezing. The windows were fogged and he felt the ice seeping into his bones. He immediately reached for his phone and checked for messages. There were none. 

He felt tears threaten to spill from his eyes, but he inhaled deeply and forced them in. He dialled Kastor’s number and put the speaker on. 

He didn’t answer. He felt a bone-deep dread in the moment he realized he was alone. Completely and utterly alone. He had lost his father, and now his brother was nowhere to be reached. He couldn’t survive alone. Not without some money, a place to sleep in, at least until he figured something out. Were they really able to strip him off everything? Didn’t matter, even a little, that Damianos was Theomedes’ only legit son? He never thought of Kastor as anything else but a brother, but now he would seize on everything, even a single, little, almost invisible clause to get everything back. 

He turned on the engine and the heat. He still had the seatbelt on. He checked the time and saw he was still in time to go to some supermarket; he wasn’t hungry but he hoped he could still use his credit card for a few hours. He cursed himself for falling asleep. He should have gone immediately to some ATM and withdraw as much money as he could. 

He drove as fast as he could and almost left the car open as he hurried to the bank. He put the small card inside the machine and waited.  
God, those things were slow. They seemed even more slow now that he was in a rush, and almost panicked when he saw some notice on the screen, but it was just warning him of a system-update. 

He quickly inserted the five-number code on the small pad; the machine was asking him how much money he wanted to withdraw. On the screen flashed a red sentence: $1500 max. per day 

He inhaled deeply and wrote that same amount on the keyboard. Then he waited while the machine processed his operation. 

He almost couldn’t believe it when he saw the cash in his hands. He quickly put it in his wallet, and he hid it in his parka (luckily for him, it had a lot of pockets) and then got on the car again. 

He stopped at the gas station, filled up his car and then he went to the supermarket. 

It was nearly eleven when he stepped into the market. The cold white lights were enough to make him feel alienated. The absence of music didn’t help either.  
What he bought could feed a whole army for a month, but he was just precautious. As he walked the aisles he felt scared, really scared for the first time in his life. He knew, somewhere deep in his mind, that he was shocked, but he only felt ridiculous. He was acting like there was a zombie apocalypse and he needed to stockpile as much as he could before the supermarkets were empty. Still, the dread sat heavy on his stomach, and this felt the only reasonable thing to do. 

When he walked back to the car with six boxes full of food, he stocked everything in the trunk of the car, unless water and some fruit. Fruit was the only perishable good that he had bought. When he had seen the tangerines and the oranges he had thought of how much his father liked them, and had decided to buy some. It was stupid, but he couldn’t care less. 

Once he was in one of the most remote parking lots, he allowed himself to stop thinking for a moment. He grabbed the blankets and the pillow and closed his eyes, hoping that tomorrow would be a better day. 

**Ω**

He woke up to the sound of someone banging on the glass. When he opened his eyes, he saw a man in a supermarket uniform who looked at him with distaste. He rolled the window down and looked at him. 

“You can’t stay here, man,” he said, trying to sound polite through his obvious dislike. “I’m sorry, but if you don’t leave in an hour I’ll call the cops.” And with that, he left. 

Damen had barely registered the man’s words. One day, and someone already thought he was a damn hobo. He peeled an orange and savoured it slowly, closing his eyes and sighing. 

_Maybe that’s what you are now, Damen. A tramp, just a lucky one._

He picked up the phone and called Kastor. This time, he answered after a few rings. 

“Damianos,” he said. His voice was tired, like he hadn’t slept at all that night. 

“Kastor, please, can I come home?” he begged, and felt pathetic for it. “I… I just want to see dad’s body and- I don’t want anything else. No money, nothing. I just want to come home.” 

It wasn’t true that he didn’t want money. He wanted what was his, his flat, the life he had before it was all tore away. Now he only felt sad, and grieving, and alone and he wanted someone to hold him. Even Kastor. 

“They won’t let me. I tried to, I swear. But they are in the interest of father and the company, and nothing I will say will make them change their mind.” 

“But- you are the heir. They should listen.” He was starting to cry, and he couldn’t stop it. “I’m alone in a fucking parking lot, Kastor. I slept in my car because that’s the only thing I have left that’s truly mine, and someone just threatened me to call the cops like I was a criminal or something! Please, Kastor.” 

Damen could hear his brother breathing softly on the other end of the phone. “They let you keep the money you took yesterday.” Said Kastor, and, nevertheless, he felt his skin heat up with shame. “They could call the police, but they let it go.” 

_How merciful._

“What I’m supposed to do now?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer. Listen, I will fix things for you, but not now. I need to finish the papers for father’s inheritance, the legal papers for the company…” he sighed heavily. “Give me some time, and I will call you, and I’ll try to help. Ok?” 

Help. Some time. Not now. It wasn’t Kastor who lived in a car. 

“But- what…” he stopped. He couldn’t ask again what he should do, because Kastor had his hands tied. “What did I do wrong, Kastor?” he asked, but there was only silence, and the call ended. 

**Ω**

When he read the newspaper, he felt angry alongside the sadness. His father’s picture was in the front page, looking at the camera with a serious look. The bold title and the article talked about the sudden passing of Theomedes Akielos, he head of Ios’ most important law company. To mourn him, his son Kastor; no one knew where his youngest son had gone, Damianos, disappeared and leaving the burden to his older, more responsible brother. 

He felt like tearing apart the newspaper. Why journalists had always to talk about things they didn’t know? Who told the press that he had fled? 

He wrote a text to Kastor. 

“Did you see the paper?” 

“Yes” 

“Why are they saying that I left you?” 

“I wanted to protect you, Damen. It’s best that no one knows the truth” 

The truth. Damen didn’t even understand what it was. It seemed like a big prank, like everyone in town was involved. 

He threw his phone on the passenger seat, screaming, angry. He felt his blood running in his veins, hot, fast. He gripped the steering wheel, hard, and screamed until his lungs burned, until he felt aching. 

Then, he drove to ALC, Akielos’ Law Company. 

**Ω**

He tactfully parked a few blocks away from the building, and walked there even if he had no umbrella and the sky was starting to darken with clouds tick of rain. 

When he entered the building, he laughably felt home, now that this place would never be his, even if he wanted it to be. 

The guards rapidly blocked him, stopping him from walking further into the hall. 

“I want to see my brother” 

“Sir,” said one of them, one that he didn’t recognise but had the badge that said “Govart” on his jacket. He was very unpleasant, with a flat nose and a scar on his cheek. “You are not allowed to enter this building nor seeing Mr. Akielos. I advise you to leave, or face serious consequences.” 

“He is not Mr. Akielos! That was my father, you ugly piece of shit,” he screamed, out of control. He could keep the rage inside of his body, he needed to let it explode against every single human being who dared to stop him. “And what else do you want to take from me, uh? My clothes? My blood? I only have that much left.” 

“Sir, please-” said another guard, who had stayed quiet until that moment, almost shy and frightened by his colleague. “Just leave, and we will tell Mr. Akielos that you were here and wanted to see him. There’s no need to-” 

“Damen?” 

He turned, and saw Kastor, in his best suit, looking at him in disbelief. 

“What are you doing here? I told you, you can’t-” 

“You don’t get to tell me what I can or I cannot do!” he screamed, taking a step towards him. 

Suddenly, he felt his arm grabbed and twisted behind his back. Despite his size, he was taken by surprise by Govart, and he was forced on his knees. He laughed, almost hysterically. “Seriously? What are we in, a fucking movie? Are you seriously walking around with guards? And _I_ am the threat?” 

Kastor looked at him for a moment, his expression blank. Then, he frowned, like he was indecisive. “We discovered traces of poison in father’s blood. He was killed.” 

Damen paled, and almost relaxed into Govarts’ arms when he deflated, all anger gone. “What? Did… did he have enemies? Did you know about it?” 

Kastor shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I guess there were many things that he kept from us.” 

He moved a finger and Govart let go of him, but Damen still stayed on the floor, one knee bent. 

“You need to leave this place, now. I already told you I would contact you. Don’t come here again, or I won’t be this tolerant,” he said, and left him in the hall, alone, while the guard went back to their place and Kastor disappeared into an elevator. 

On the way to his car, he stayed silent, not even thinking. He could not think about his father having so many secrets, so many things unsaid. Enemies? It was absurd. They were not in a movie or a thriller book where there were plots, and murders and spies. Who even used poison anymore? 

He passed a hand on his sweaty face. He surely could use a shower, which he had not, because his car wasn’t a camper and undoubtedly wasn’t a home. He was lucky that he had bought wet wipes.  
He got into a public restroom and quickly wiped his armpits, face and torso. He felt better, but he already missed the feeling of water on his body. 

Suddenly, his mind fleshed him the solution. How could he be so stupid and slow?  
He basically ran to his car and drove to the local gym, where he had spent so many hours training and building muscles. He loved that place, and still he had forgotten about it in the last two days. 

When he entered the small gym, he closed his eyes for a moment before walking to the front desk and passing his badge.  
The owner, a big man known as Makedon, greeted him enthusiastically. “Damen, son! I was wondering where you had gone the last few days.” 

Damen smile slightly, passing a man on his neck. “I’m sorry, I just had some family issues.” 

“Ah, that’s bad. I hope that everything is okay now.” 

“Yeah. Sort of,” he shrugged his shoulders, but gained a strange look from the man, who didn’t investigate further. “I’ll go training for a while in the blue room, is that okay?” 

“Yeah, of course. It’s free, no one seems to have time for training today.” 

The Kingsmeet was a martial arts gym, and Damen had just started exploring Aikidō. He was fascinated the first time that Makedon had explained it to him, the spirituality of it, the actions made not to harm people, but to defend oneself from others’. He felt that he needed that even more, in this particular moment. 

He changed his clothes and sat on the tatami with his legs crossed, and closed his eyes. He breathed thoroughly through his nose, and emptied his mind. Makedon had taught him a few things, how he should concentrate on his spirit, his body, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he understood that. Spirituality was something very far from him, as was the calmness of movements. He still needed to learn a lot about controlling his reactions, and consequently his actions. 

He didn’t hear the door opening and didn’t notice Makedon approaching until he felt a hand on his arm, the grip tight and strong. Damen instinctively grabbed the hand, and pulled as for flipping him, but the man stayed still. 

“You still have a long path ahead of you, son. We’ll need to work hard to achieve results.” He said, offering Damen a hand to get up. He accepted it, and sighed. 

“I’m sorry, but this will be the last time. I…” he stopped, searching for an excuse. “I’m moving. It’s a bit sudden, I know, but it’s necessary.” 

“Ah, I’ll miss you, Damen. You really had the potential to become the perfect akidoka.” 

Damen snorted, but Makedon still had a serious expression. “I’m not kidding, son. I saw it in you.” 

Damen closed his eyes for a second, and gave him a little smile. “I’m glad, and I’m sorry that I have to leave practice. I was really enjoying it, you know.” 

“I’m sure you will find your path soon,” he said, patting him on the shoulder and leaving. 

_Yeah, whatever you say._

**Ω**

He discovered the day of the funeral only because he read it on the newspaper. His father had always told him that reading the paper was an old-fashioned but useful thing even for young people, more so for people who worked in certain areas. 

He arrived at the cemetery when the ceremony had already started. He saw the few people there close to each other, in front of his family vault, where his mother was buried exactly 26 years ago, when he was born. He had never known her, and her father spoke rarely of his wife, so all he had were her diaries and photos. He forced himself not to think about her, or about her memories hidden in a drawer in his inaccessible house. 

He saw the small urn on the small table in front of the crowd. Damen felt strange imagining that his father – the strongest man he had ever known, who had always seemed him so big – would fit into something that small. He leaned against a tree, his eyes on Kastor, when he shifted a little and revealed another figure beside him, a female one. Jokaste. Shock fell over him like a shower, more so when he saw her distended belly, visible even for him that wasn’t close. 

She lifted her gaze and saw him. She may have tensed, but no one noticed, because she was the only one looking at him. 

Jokaste had been his one night stand who had developed quickly into a passionate love. Damen loved fiercely, not afraid of showing his feelings, his desires. She was quite the opposite. She was not cold, but reserved, feared love like a snake feared the spear, and couldn’t let herself go. The night before she had left him they hade made love, and Damen had told her that wanted something more. He had known her for a year, but was ready to have a family with her. She, however, had looked almost terrified, like he had confessed her a murder. Jokaste had urged him to sleep, with the promise that they would have spoken the next morning. 

But, when he woke up, she was gone, leaving a brief note on her pillow:  
  
_I’m not ready for what you want from me, and I’m sure you wouldn’t it from me, if you knew me.  
_ _I’m sure, in another life, we could have been together._

__

__

_J._

Damen was, to no one’s surprise, devastated. That had happened six months ago, and he had barely stopped thinking about her.  
Why was she there? To mourn Theomedes? 

But then, the tore her gaze off Damen and leaned against Kastor, making obvious what her role was. Her hand on her stomach was protectively there, as for protecting her baby from the outside world. 

He never wanted a family with him, because Kastor was there too. 

He had to go away. He couldn’t stand another moment in this town, this place, who seemed to wear off the beautiful and perfect façade he had always admired, showing him all the filth and injustice of the world. He was a collateral effect, too, now, emarginated by his own family, the one who thought loved him. 

When he reached the car, he was exhausted, physically and mentally. He couldn’t bear all the events of the last week. He was the protagonist of a horror movie he never realized existed. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep. 

Instead, he drove. 

**Ω**

The money he had managed to save, quickly ran low. He had indulged in a cheap motel, one night, when he was too tired and too cold to sleep again in his car. 

The loneliness was suffocating, and he had never been alone in his life. He had friends at school, at the gym. He had a best friend, once, before he got a job for the government and disappeared. He still missed Nikandros, wondered where he was, if he had another life somewhere or not. Maybe, now, he was lonely just like Damen. They parted when Damen didn’t know what to do with his life, when he needed his advice the most, because he couldn’t decide between his heart and his family. He had chosen the least, until he couldn’t take anymore and confessed to his father that he wanted to start college again. He never had the chance, though. 

The evening in the motel was the last time he showered, and it had been a week. Now he relied on wet wipes and water bottles, but the food was low and he didn’t know how to use his last money. 

He was driving north, to Arles, and the cold was always worse, and December had started and he was so, so tired. He was travelling the country to get away as far as possible from Kastor and Jokaste and everything that reminded him of his father, but it wasn’t easy when you were constantly worried about running out of food and fuel, even less so when you had to choose between the two of them, inevitably choosing the last. 

When he reached Arles, he nearly made it to a parking lot until his car died. He cursed under his breath and took off the key, securing it into his pocket. He collected all his belongings into his gym bag – the blankets, the clean clothes he had washed at the last Laundromat and some snacks, his phone and wallet – and got out the car, into the streets of a foreign city covered in snow. 

He had thought a lot, during the drive to Arles, if he should go to Auguste or not. He was the only person he could think of. He had met him in a business trip to Marlas, when he still followed his father and brother in leading the company, but when they had started talking, they found that they had more in common than just a family name and their expectations. They loved sports, and animals, and bad romantic comedies. But August was so fitted for leading Vere’s company, while Damen was not. They became friends over the year, until he stopped going to business trips, and they stopped talking. 

He knew where his father’s – and his – company was, though. It was printed like fire on his brain, and he was heading there, hoping that they had not moved. He was his last chance. 

The first night, he slept into a toy house in a playground. He couldn’t feel any more miserable, and he felt his dignity gone every time he had to clean himself with water fountains in parks, in the middle of the freezing night, because he didn’t want people to think he was homeless. He was, though, and when the fact hit him, he nearly had to stop himself from screaming in the middle of the road. 

The second night, he slept on a bench under a bus canopy. The third day he was lucky and found a warm spot under shopping arcades. 

When he arrived in front of Vere’s, it had been a month since his father had passed. He couldn’t believe a month ago was in his bed, and today he was grateful for a piece of cardboard where he could lay without freezing to death. Someone had nearly robbed him, once, and high-school kids had spat at him while he pretended to be asleep, because it was easier to just let it go. People had done more awful things to him, things he never wanted to talk about again, but still marked with fire into his brain. 

But it was late evening, and no one was there anymore. So, he sat on the stairs, exhausted, and covered himself with a blanket, before drifting off. 

**Ω**

When he opened his eyes, it was sunset. He was able to wake up at the same time everyday, now, and today was especially useful because he didn’t want to meet Auguste on the stairs of his company. He probably wouldn’t even have recognised him. 

He had saved some money just for this day. He went to the public showers and washed himself, enjoying the lukewarm water, the soap and the perfume, and wearing his most comfortable clothes. He even grabbed a croissant, and the girl at the bar smiled at him, and he felt normal for a second. Then, he packed up and went back to Vere’s. 

He waited all day, sitting in a corner not far away, but Auguste never came.  
By night, when all his hopes had shattered to splinters, he walked away, kicking a trash bin in frustration. 

He was his last chance. He had planned this hell of a trip just because he thought that he would help him, at least at the beginning, helping to find a job, a room somewhere. He thought he would find a friend. But he wasn’t there, and maybe it was just a coincidence, a day-off, maybe he was sick, but Damen had felt all his weariness on his shoulders. 

He had lost 10 kg in the last month, mostly muscles, and he looked surprisingly smaller, and ill, half-starving. 

He wished he could close his eyes forever. What was the point in going on, if he had nothing at all? He had officially finished his last energy bar, and his stomach was growling like a tiger. 

He fell asleep hoping that someone would beat him up and leaving him dead on the street. He was no good use. 

**Ω**

Unfortunately, the next day he woke up whole. Same for the next one. 

He went to Vere’s by habit, every day, everyday without any sign of Auguste.  
By the seventh day, he was really struggling. He was weak, could barely stand and he was sure he was somehow dehydrated, even if the managed to drink a little everyday. 

He was sitting on the stairs, one evening, shaking and praying some God he didn’t even believe in that he would make him die at least, when Laurent found him. 

A first, he thought he finally had met Auguste, but when he apporached he noticed that the figure was still blonde, yes, but younger and smaller and thinner, and he was looking at him like he had seen a ghost. 

“Auguste?” he still tried, not sure if he was dreaming or not. 

The figure stilled, incapable of any movement other the one of his eyes, who searched his face like they were searching an answer. 

“Auguste, is that you?” he tried again, not trusting his legs enough to stand up and go near him. 

“No. I’m- that was my brother.” 

_Was._

He put his hands into his dirty curls, and started sobbing, his head pressed on his knees. 

Fuck, fuck, FUCK! 

His head screamed and – by the way the young man flinched – his mouth too. 

After some minutes, or second, or hours, he stopped crying, and set his eyes on the other’s face, still in the same position, with a strange look on his face. His eyes said “You disgust me” but also “I pity you” and, somehow, “I want to know more” 

“Is Auguste dead?” he asked, his voice hoarse and broken 

“He- yes. Ten months ago,” he didn’t say anything else until “I’m Laurent. De Vere.” 

He added his last name, as if he needed it to recognise him. He was like the smaller version of the man he knew. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, earnestly. He had calmed down a little, somehow, by looking at Laurent’s calm and stoic behaviour. “He was my last chance” he laughed dryly, before struggling to stand up. 

Laurent made a step forward when he saw him stumble, but he stopped immediately as if his brain had acted without his consent. 

“By the way, I’m-“ he started, but Laurent interrupted him. 

“I know what you are, Damianos,” he said. “What the hell happened to you?”


	2. Hopeless Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate can't keep Laurent and Damen apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.  
> I'm sorry it took so long but with the quarantine many things happened, I couldn't use my computer and my mental health was quite bad.  
> I managed to finish it today because I left it in the middle of the chapter like, more than a month ago. I think it does show in the way the writing changes but still.  
> Also it's hard for me to have to double check every word because I'm not sure if I am writing English or some language that I invented.
> 
> Again, I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Laurent’s house was not far from Vere’s. For some reasons he had imagined it to be an all-white place, almost sterile, but, when they walked in, he was surprised with how warm he felt. Every room was painted in a different shade of colour, representing the emotion of the room. He had seen something like that when he had played _Animal Crossing_ on his Nintendo when he was eleven, but he guessed this was different.  
He leaned on the front door and closed his eyes. They were so heavy they threatened to close and never open again. When he managed to open them, Laurent was watching him thoughtfully. 

“The bathroom is over there. If you want to take a shower,” Laurent said, eventually. 

Damen felt himself blush. _Was it so obvious, that he hadn’t showered in days?_

“I- don’t- I wouldn’t take advantage of your hospitality,” Damen whispered, sinking his nails in his palm. They were quite long and chippered, he realized, watching them as the pain spread into his hands. “I just need… some hours. Some sleep, then I’ll go.” 

Laurent watched him with something in his eyes like pity, but his gaze was almost soft, and he made some steps in his direction. “I convinced you to come here. It’s no trouble, letting you use the shower, giving you a pillow and blanket. Also,” he added, his gaze more determined, now. “I want to know why you were looking for Auguste and I want to know what happened to you.” 

Damen sighed, but nodded and picked up his bag, disappearing in the bathroom. He opened the water on hot and he undressed while the steam started to fill the room. He looked at himself in the big mirror. He didn’t recognise the figure that was staring at him on the other side: it was pale, thin and he could see some bones on his collarbone and shoulders, sharp and almost threatening to break the skin. He ran his hands on his body and he acknowledged himself as he touched it. His jaw was sharp, the beard not too long because he had cut it some days ago, but his hair was reaching his shoulders, curling. 

He closed his eyes and stepped into the shower, not even reacting when the boiling-hot water hit his flesh. He took the soap and started scrubbing his skin until he felt clean and then he quickly washed his hair. Then he sat on the floor tiles and tried to clear his thoughts. 

One. Auguste was dead. He didn’t know how much – or even if – Laurent knew what Damen’s company was and that his and Laurent’s family company were once partners. 

Two. Laurent had let him into his house, let him use his shower. Showed kindness. That confused him. 

Three. He was far from home and had nothing. 

_His future prospects were not exactly excellent._

There was a knock on the door who startled him. 

“Damianos?” he heard the voice say. “Everything okay?” 

“Yes. I’m almost finished.” 

“Okay,” he heard the hesitation in his voice, like he wasn’t sure if he should talk or not. “You’ve been in there for an hour, I thought-,” he stopped, and he could almost see him shaking his head. “However, there’s a towel near the shower. And some clothes on the chair outside. I think they will fit.” 

He didn’t say anything else, so Damen presumed he left. He stayed under the water for another five minutes before he went out and grabbed the towel, soft and smelling of fresh laundry. Inhaling the perfume, he wrapped himself in it, relishing the pleasant feeling of warmth spreading into his body. 

When he decided that he had made Laurent wait enough, he grabbed the clothes and put them on quickly. The soft material of the sweatshirt brushed against his skin and everything was so soft and warm that he felt almost overwhelmed. 

When he walked into the living room, Laurent was busy cooking something in the open-spaced kitchen. There was a good smell in the air and he leaned against the frame of the door to watch him. 

They spent some minutes in silence, Laurent giving no sign that he had seen or heard him, and Damen happy that he hadn’t. He felt enough self-conscious without holding a conversation with the other man. 

At some point, after Laurent had poured what Damen thought was soup in two bowls, and nodded at him, meaning to invite him at the table – already set – where he placed the supper. 

Damen sat and dipped the spoon into the thick liquid. When he tasted it, he immediately recognised the exploding, spicy flavour of ginger, and then the sweetness of pumpkin and potatoes and finally the freshness of coriander. He felt his eyes watering because he hadn’t eaten something this tasty and simply _good_ in a long time. He didn’t know why he started feeling thin droplets of tears running down his cheek, but he knew that Laurent was trying very hard not to stare at him. He felt so pathetic. 

He still finished his soup, and another bowl that Laurent placed in front of him without saying a word. 

“I wonder what you are thinking of me, right now,” Damen said, not able to look at him in the eyes and staring at the pattern painted on the bowl. 

Laurent didn’t answer and, after a minute, the silence forced Damen to look up. He had his usual strange gaze, not revealing his emotions but somehow gentle. 

“I think that, whatever happened to you, you are desperate. And I won’t lie, I am curious to know why the heir of Akielos run off just after his father died and ended up here, looking for the rival of his own company.” 

Damen looked at him with full attention now, and ran a hand into his still wet hair. 

“Once we were partners. That’s when I met Auguste,” he said, avoiding the other question, because he couldn’t possibly bear to explain Laurent why the newspapers said that about him. “I was nineteen and I had no plans for my life, because my life was already planned. Be the heir of my father’s company, inherit everything that was his own. I used to go with him to meetings with his partners, because I was easy-going, and it was easy for me to talk to people, and they loved it. My father loved this about me. But I was always bored so once, when I managed to escape one of those boring parties, I wandered in the gardens and met him. Obviously I knew who he was, but I never saw him outside the meetings. He was on a bench and had his eyes closed, and a glass of champagne,” Damen almost smiled at the thought. He was happy, at nineteen. “Then he saw me, and smiled. He looked almost guilty that I had found him, like he shouldn’t be there for me to see. But then we started talking. I think he was 26, like I am now. But we went along just as well. I never found another man who admitted to love rom-com. But he did, and he made me laugh. We had a lot in common, we went along very well, you know? He was easy to like.” 

He hadn’t noticed that Laurent had been silent the whole time, until he saw him watching Damen tightly. He frowned, wondering if he had said something wrong, but then Laurent spoke. 

“Yes, he was. He was easy to love.” Laurent said, and his voice was strangled, and he saw that his eyes were watery. 

Damen nodded, and then continued. “After some years, a couple I think, after… you know-,” he said, and Laurent nodded. “We stopped talking. My father would be mad if he found out we were still talking, and Auguste and I decided that would be best for both of us if we cut off contact, but I still missed talking to him and laughing with him after meetings.” 

Laurent nodded again, but then asked him “Why were you looking for him?” 

“I-,” he hesitated. “I didn’t hate him for what Vere did. I hoped he didn’t hate me either. I hoped that he could help me, now.” 

“You know, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know about… all of it. Whatever… whatever taint existed in my family, Auguste was free of it. If he had known-” 

“Yeah. He would have fought to stop it. I always knew, it wasn’t the action of the man I got to know.” 

They were silent for a bit, probably both reminiscing the past they had both lost. Then, Laurent spoke again. 

“If he- I think Auguste would have helped you.” 

“Thanks. That’s what I hoped, that’s why I came here.” 

“What happened? After your father…” 

Damen closed his eyes, something uncomfortable settling in his throat and chest. “I woke up and-” he shook his head, not wanting to go through it another time. But he tried, because he owed Laurent an answer, at least. He tried, finding that he couldn’t make himself speak. “Ad he was dead and Kastor told me I couldn’t- I couldn’t go home, see my father and I…” 

“Damianos,” Laurent said, but he couldn’t open his eyes to look at him. “Damianos, you need to breathe.” 

_Breathe_. He was trying to, but he felt underwater, sinking and losing his breath, drowning. 

He felt hands on his arms, and he focused on the strength of the fingers in his flesh, burning into his weak muscles. Somehow that kept him grounded. Like fresh air. He started to breathe, in hiccups, and he felt his face wet, both from tears and sweat, and in a moment he found himself on the floor, watching Laurent pale face morphed with worry, maybe without really noticing. 

He breathed heavily, Laurent’s hands still on him. He watched him, and the other stand up, getting away. He wiped his face with his sleeve, and brushed his fingers against his burning throat. He had never experienced something like that. 

“I’m- I’m so sorry. I… I’m so embarrassed, I think I should leave. You’ve done enough.” Damen said, getting up and walking to get his bag, before a hesitant hand stopped him. 

“Damianos…” Laurent said, his voice weak. “Stay.” 

“I can’t. I don’t want to interfere with your life. I shall leave you alone.” 

“I already am.” 

Damen froze at the honesty of those words. He looked so young and yet so tired it made him seem older. 

“I’m alone since Auguste… I’m alone, Damianos. And I want to help you like I know he would have done” he said, and let go of him. 

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I do,” Laurent gave him a half smile, as Damen frowned. “Auguste used to tell me about this tall, broad man who lightened some heavy moments. He used to tell me everything, even if I was only a teenager, not worth of knowing by anyone but him. He loved me dearly and… I did too. I always wanted to meet you. I didn’t think it would happen under these circumstances but… at least I did.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yeah. I never thought I would meet you, but you showed up right at my door. I couldn’t believe you were the man Auguste told me about so many times.” He stopped for a moment. “You can sleep on the couch. It’s very comfortable, don’t worry.” 

“I think everything will be better than another night freezing in a park,” he said flatly, without meaning to be as rude as it came out. When he realized, he flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- I am very grateful for everything you are doing for me.” 

“Don’t worry,” said Laurent, shaking his head. He left the room and came back after some minutes with a pillow and a comforter. “Here,” he gave him the blanket. I’ll be in my bedroom. I hope you’ll manage to get some sleep.” he said, and turned to leave the room. 

“Goodnight, Laurent,” Damen whispered, and Laurent stopped and turned, smiling. 

“Good night Damianos.” 

Laurent disappeared, turning off the lights, and he sat on the couch. It was comfortable, indeed. He managed to stay awake for half an hour before sleep betrayed him. 

**Ω**

Laurent found difficult to get to sleep when there was the other man in the living room. He had too many thoughts, too many theories and no certainties. He almost spent the entire night googling his name, and all he could find were articles on how Damianos Akielos had left his company and brother and no one knew where he was. 

He found difficult to believe the news, since he had gone through false articles about himself most of his life. He believed it even less since he had known Damianos. Well, he _hadn’t_ actually known him, but at least he had seen some parts of him, his fragility, sensibility and his trauma, the thing that Laurent could relate to the most. He thought that, probably, Damianos didn’t even think at his situation as a trauma, and that saddened him a lot more than he already was. 

The moment that Damianos has started panicking, Laurent was thrown back years before, when he had his first panic attack, alone, locked in a room, incapable of breathing and thinking he was – finally – going to die. 

He took his mind off that particular memory, and kept scrolling google searching for articles. One of the latest caught his eyes and clicked on it. 

_“Damianos Akielos, the 26 years old her of Theomedes Akielos, the magnate of the most successful law companies in Ios, is still nowhere to be found. The young man, as his half-brother Kastor Akielos said in one of his latest – and brief – interviews, had left the city the day after his father’s death without explanations and taking with him part of his inheritance._

__

__

_“We are working on it, we are putting our efforts into finding him. I’m sure he’s shocked, as we all are.” Kastor said, before being interrupted by a phone call and dismissing the journalists with an apologetic smile._

__

__

_Kastor is surely a busy man, even more now that he has to run the company alone. With him, his soon-to-be wife, Jokaste Eligmòs, four months pregnant of their first baby. They seem a very close-knit couple, Jokaste always advising him when he seems lost in his thoughts. We can’t blame him, though!_

__

__

_Stay tuned, we’ll be back next week with a full interview to this beautiful couple.”_

Laurent bit the corner of his bottom lip as he read, frowning. He googled their names, and found many photos of them walking, kissing, Jokaste whispering something into his ear. The attention was inevitably drawn to her belly, a hand caressing it all the time. What he didn’t expect to find was another photo, undoubtedly an older one – given the absence of Jokaste’s belly and the presence of a more muscular and much more smiling Damianos to her side. They had their hands linked and were laughing at something one of them had said or seen; they seemed genuinely happy. He checked the date of the photo, confused: it was only six months ago. 

Laurent ran a finger through his short hair and sighed. It was hard to know what was hurting Damianos the most. 

Honestly, he didn’t even know _how_ the other man had managed to get into his house. When he saw him, it was like an unknown force had possessed him, making him say and do things that he normally wouldn’t have. He felt drawn to him for some inexplicable reason, like they were meant to share this piece of life together. He also had mentioned Auguste, and he was – he would always be – an open wound in his heart, and he felt so happy? He had felt like he could talk to his brother again, speaking with someone who had known him. Still, his heart had felt crushed by a huge rock when he had started to tell Laurent things about his brother, things that were so Auguste that made him ache for more of it. It wasn’t useful, and it hurt him every time, but he couldn’t stop wanting more. 

He turned off the screen of his phone, telling himself that he would close his eyes for just a minute, before he drifted off to sleep. 

**Ω**

When Damen woke up, it was six in the morning and it was still dark outside. He felt almost well-rested like he hadn’t in weeks. He wandered in the kitchen, only daring to grab a glass of water, hoping that he wouldn’t wake Laurent up while he opened the big door window that led to the balcony. He could see the mountains in the distance, covered with thick snow. He wondered what he would do now. He had nowhere to go, he couldn’t go back to Kastor because he knew that he couldn’t help him at the moment and that he had to wait until he heard from him. 

He was so scared. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to prevent himself from crying but he knew it was useless, because he already was. He sobbed into the soft sweatshirt and cried until his head hurt and he felt like he had no tears left in his body. He was starting to feel cold, so he turned and walked back into the house, moments before Laurent entered the living room and stopped, like he wasn’t expecting to find Damen already awake. 

He smiled faintly and Laurent returned it. 

“Hungry?” 

Damen just nodded, not willing to tell him how hungry he really was, like he had a hole in his abdomen even after their dinner. 

“Eggs and bacon are good for you?” 

“Definitely. Thank you, Laurent,” Damen said, walking to the counter where he was already starting to mix eggs into a bowl. He wanted to help, but he didn’t know how to ask. 

Laurent caught his eyes and Damen blushed, and the other gestured to the small coffee pot on the induction stove. 

“You can make coffee, I think you are a coffee drinker, aren’t you?” 

Damen nodded again, and started filling the base with water, then adding the soft, brown powder into the coffee pot, like his grandmother once had taught him, not pressing it, but leaving it in a little mound. He closed it and put it on the stove, waiting. 

“Do you drink coffee too?” Damen asked, trying to make small talk. 

“I’m not fond of it. I prefer tea,” Laurent gestured to the kettle on the counter, a little steam coming up from it. “My mother’s legacy, I suppose.” 

Damen stayed silent, not knowing what to say. He felt uncomfortable, not by Laurent himself but… this whole situation was odd to say the least, he hadn’t expected to pass the night into someone’s home, someone he had just met, the little brother of Auguste. 

“Are you…” he asked, instead. “Are you working into your father’s company?” 

Laurent shook his head. “No, I… I’m not. When Auguste… He knew I had no interest in running that company. He was doing it out of love for our father, but we wanted-,” he stopped, his hand froze, not even stirring the eggs frying in the pan. “We wanted to start our company together. I’m graduating in law, and I wanted our company to a have a pro bono policy. I wanted to help those who were not able to pay to defend themselves.” 

Laurent was staring at the eggs like they were judging him, because the moved the pan so fast that they almost fell out of it, quickly dividing them in two and placing them on two plates. He walked to the table and set the plates on it, sitting heavily. Damen stared at him, then poured himself a cup of coffee and a cup of tea for Laurent, bringing them to the table. He took the cup from him unconsciously, sipping without putting sugar into it. Damen, instead, put two spoons of sugar, stirring briefly the liquid and tasting it, closing his eyes. 

They stayed silent for a few minutes, eating with their eyes averted from each other. The only sound that the room was filled of was the one of cutlery against plates. 

“I can make some calls if you want,” said Laurent, suddenly, without looking up. 

“Uh?” he answered, sounding very intelligent. 

“I think... if you want my help, I could call some people and ask if they can come up with a job for you, some place to stay,” he said, fidgeting with his fingers on his lap, clearly nervous about his reaction. 

Damen’s mouth fell slightly open, and he looked at him with his eyes wide. “Oh... Laurent, I- I don’t know what to say. Would you really do that for me?” 

He shrugged, nodding. “Yeah” 

“Why?” 

“Why not?” he replied. “It’s not a big deal, for me. And I’m happy to help you.” 

Damen bit his bottom lip, thoughtful. He honestly couldn’t think of a reason why Laurent was doing all of this for him, a stranger. He could have been anyone, a killer, anybody. Still, it seemed like Laurent trusted him for the simple reason that he knew Auguste. 

“Why are you helping me? I’m no one to you,” he said in a whisper. 

Laurent looked at him, his eyes soft. 

“You were something for Auguste, once. And it means something to me, okay?” he said, strongly. “Also, I think that what happened left you truly alone, leaving you without family, without a girlfriend and-” 

“Girlfriend? What do you-?” he asked, confused. “Why do you know about her?” 

“I-,” Laurent faltered, his eyes filled with something like guilt for mentioning her. “I just googled you, I wanted to know more about our situation and I found a photo. That’s it, nothing more.” 

Damen looked at him, his eyes colder, like mentioning Jokaste had shattered something inside of him, and for that Laurent cursed himself. “I’m sorry, I should have never told you about that.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Damen sighed, running a hand on his face and into his hair. 

Laurent couldn’t stop but thinking _but she fucked your brother and is having his baby, that’s not worth your pain_. Still, he knew that that wouldn’t solve anything, because Damen would still be hurt. 

“So, what do you think?” asked Laurent with a soft smile, not returned by Damen. Instead, he looked like he was about to throw up, pale and sweating. He was thinking about Jokaste and Kastor in the same bed, his brother sinking into her, caressing her body, her soft short hair, the new haircut that Damen had loved so much when she had showed him, kissing her red plump lips, covering himself in her perfume, her smell, and hearing the soft noises that she made when they were making love. And now, she was carrying his baby, something that he had wanted with her and that she had denied. 

Damen got up abruptly, and that startled Laurent. “No, I- I think that’s not a good idea. I should not be here, really. I’m sorry, Laurent, I can’t. I’m sorry I can’t.”  
Then, with his breath short, he grabbed his bag, his heart menacing to explode. “I can’t stay here, I can’t-” he whispered, and Laurent got up in the moment he was heading towards the door, his hand on the doorknob. 

“Damen, wait!” he shouted, reaching out for him. When he grabbed his forearm, Damen jumped, quickly freeing himself and looking at Laurent with something like panic. “Damen, please wait, listen to me, you should-” 

“You should let me go, nothing else,” Damen said, breathless, and opened the door leaving Laurent on the threshold, watching him leave. 

**Ω**

Laurent was walking towards the library, a cup of tea in his hands, when the phone vibrated in his pocket. The number wasn’t one he had saved in his rubric, but he could recognise it by now, for he had searched it on google and received calls from it so many times. 

His heart throbbed and he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, accepting the call. 

“Yes?” he said, his voice trembling. 

“Hello, Mr. deVere. I’m doctor Paschal at the Fortaine’s Hospital,” the man said, his voice calm but serious. 

“Yes,” he said again, almost crushing the paper cup into his hand for how much nervous he was. 

“You should come to the hospital right now, I have some information that you should know, and that can’t be delayed,” the doctor explained, and he felt his heart sink, expecting the worst. 

“Is he-” he could not say it. He could not say gone, dead. 

Through the phone, he could feel the doctor exhaling, but then the answer came. 

“No, Mr. deVere, it’s actually the opposite. We detected some unusual waves yesterday afternoon and night. We wanted to look a little deeper before we called you, didn’t want to give you false hopes. But now we are sure. We did an EEG and it was so much improved. He’s waking up.” 

Laurent nearly let his phone drop on the ground. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I am. We will not know if it will happen today or next week, or next month. But I can assure you we tested his brain activity. He’s responding to impulses, unlike some time ago. His brain is working to wake him up.” 

“Oh my god,” Laurent sobbed, sitting on a bench and letting tears fall freely on his face. He knew he was still on the phone with the hospital but he couldn’t help it. He simply couldn’t. It was like a big – enormous – stone was lifted off his chest, the choking sensation almost gone. He was still alive and he would wake up. 

“I’m sorry, doctor. I- I'm on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you for telling me now.” 

He almost could see the polite smile on the man’s lips as he listened to his ramblings. “Do not worry, we are not moving,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Yes, goodbye doctor, thank you again.” he said, and he got up, drying his cheeks and composing himself, tossing his half-drank tea into the bin. 

He walked so fast to the nearest bus station that his calves started to burn. 

He looked up at the timetable and saw that the next bus should be arriving in ten minutes. Still, the wait was nerve-racking. When it arrived, he nearly jumped on it, but he tried to maintain some composure and sitting quickly into the seat nearest to the exit. 

The hospital was not far from his campus, so he arrived rather quickly, and this time ran to the elevators and clicked the button with the number eight. He had seen that number so many times, but he had never been this happy clicking it. 

He rushed through the doors ignoring the glares of the nurses working into the ward, heading to the infirmary and telling the woman sitting in the chair that doctor Paschal had called him. 

“Oh yes, he’s in his studio. You know where it is,” she said, flashing him a smile and still pointing him the direction, out of habit. 

Laurent thanked her quickly and he walked towards the office, trying to steady his breath. He had always hated I.C.U but it seemed that life didn’t want him out of it, and by now he could walk that ward with his eyes closed like that was his house. It was a familiar place indeed. 

He knocked lightly and opened the door when he heard the doctor’s voice telling him to come in. 

“Good morning, doctor,” Laurent said, sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk where he was seated. 

“Good morning, Mr. deVere,” he said, taking his hand and shaking it briefly. “So, I already told you briefly on the phone and that’s not much else that I can tell you. I wanted to inform you that we are changing his therapy to adapt to his clinical changes.” 

Laurent nodded, writing on his notebook – already filled with pages and pages of notes – about the new medicines, reminding himself to check them later when he was home. 

“As I told you, we should expect him waking up any time now, even if we don’t know exactly when at the moment. We must follow his clinical progression with daily EEGs, that’s the only sure thing that informs us of his condition. But we are very positive, Laurent.” 

He nodded, breathing sharply. “I... I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I thought I would never see him again, at least not awake. I thought I’d lost him forever.” 

“I know that he seemed to worsen after every exam, but the brain is something delicate and very peculiar and, especially after a trauma, we can only wait for it to recover. Sometimes, of course, it does not, but this is not the case,” he smiled, getting up. “I think you should go see him now, you’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” 

“Yes,” he said, smiling and nervously biting his lips. “Let’s go.” 

Laurent let the doctor walk out first and he followed him, tense and with his heart threatening to jump out of his chest. They stopped in front of one of the ten rooms, one of the few single ones. It was filled with monitors, constant sounds beeping in the air and into his ears, unnerving him. In the bed, breathing only with the aid of a mechanical ventilator, there was the naked body of his brother, covered only by a green sheet. 

He walked towards him, taking his cold hand into his, kissing it and feeling himself breaking into tears. He cried and cried, repeating his name – _Auguste, Auguste_ – until he stopped, just keeping tracing his fingers on his brother’s hand and arm, not willing to let him go. 

“I thought I had lost you, Auguste. I thought- I was alone.” 

He spoke like no one else could hear him, like there wasn’t a nurse checking on his vitals on the monitors on the other side of the bed, pretending not to hear him. 

It was just when they were completely alone that he started to stroke his hair, the golden strands so thin under his fingers. His hair had grown a little in the past ten months and he was so much thin, but he still recognised the shape of him, the shape of his lips often curved in a gentle smile, his arms, once so strong. He placed a hand on his chest and closed his eyes, happy to find it still beating. 

Laurent stayed with his brother for hours, brushing his hair, talking to him even if he didn’t know if Auguste could hear him. He didn’t care. It made him feel good, to know that the world had given Laurent another chance to stay with his brother. 

Ten months ago, when he had received that awful call from Jord, who worked in ER – _Auguste is in surgery, he had an accident_ – he thought he was going to die himself. He couldn’t eat for days, couldn’t leave his brother’s room, couldn’t leave _Auguste_ alone.  
They told him Auguste was in a coma. No one knew when – if – he would ever wake up. No one knew, if he woke up, if he could speak again, walk again. All they could do was wait. The doctors always told him to have no expectations, that the coma could lead Auguste to death, or to brain death, or to a vegetative state. They directed him to a therapist to help him cope with this situation, looked at him like they expected him to be heartbroken any day now. But he already had a therapist, and Auguste kept living. 

After two months, Auguste opened his eyes, and Laurent thought _finally, he’s waking up. It’s over_. 

But it wasn’t, because Auguste wasn’t waking up, but his coma had evolved into a vegetative state. He opened his eyes, he closed them, like he was sleeping, but he wasn’t aware of anything around him. He wasn’t aware of Laurent talking about his classes, the cooking show that they both loved, about Jord and his crush. The doctors said it was good news, though. Not many people recovered after an accident like Auguste’s.  
So, Laurent waited. He kept talking to him, kept touching him like they told him to, because maybe – _maybe_ – his consciousness was affected by that. 

After a while he started to lose hope. He was ashamed because he was giving up on him, he knew that he was, but he was so tired. He couldn’t afford to have bad grades, so he had to study harder, way harder, because it was so difficult to concentrate. It seemed that his days were made of too few hours, in which he had to go to university, to his therapist, to the grocery store and to Auguste. 

At the end of the day, when he touched the bed, he was too exhausted to even undress. 

So, he started to take it easy. With the help of his psychologist, he developed a schedule that allowed him to eat and sleep properly, to study without going crazy and to visit Auguste three times a week. There was no point in going there every day, Laurent realised, if there wasn’t a real improvement. He also realised that, with that schedule, when he actually went to the hospital, he was a little more relaxed, and managed to not feeling anxious every time his brother’s body wasn’t responding as usual, as he wanted him to. 

Six months passed, but they felt like years to Laurent. At least until that morning, when he received that call. 

When he left Auguste, who had grasped his hand when Laurent was about to leave, he decided to call Jord. He picked up the second time he tried to reach him. 

“Hi, this is Jord,” 

“Yeah, I know, I called you,” Laurent laughed a little, biting his lip while he was in front of the vending machine, choosing the sandwich of the evening. 

“Laurent! I’m sorry, I didn’t check the ID. I just got out of an emergency, I’m actually peeing. I haven’t peed in six hours, Laurent, do you know it? Did I know it before I accepted this job that I would not be peeing to six hours straight to say the least?” 

Laurent actually laughed this time. He loved Jord. “I don’t know, but I know one thing: you love this job, so stop complaining.” 

Jord just sighed, and Laurent heard the toilet flushing and the water running in the sink as he washed his hands. 

“I’m upstairs at Auguste’s,” Laurent said, and heard Jord catch his breath. “The doctor called me, and he told me that he is in a minimally conscious state, or that’s where he’s heading at least. He’s waking up, Jord.” 

Talking about that to someone else was completely different that repeating it in his head, and he felt some tears running on his face. He sniffed, quickly drying them. 

“Laurent, that’s- that’s wonderful,” Jord breathed. “Fuck, that’s amazing! I should be able to go upstairs after my shift, I’ll call Lazar and see if he’s on duty this evening.” 

“Lazar? Is he still alive after he tried to hit on that neurologist? What was his name? Pallas? I haven’t heard him in weeks, now that I think about that.” 

“Yeah, they have gone on a date, actually” 

“Really? How come you know everything about or friends and I don’t?” 

“Laurent... don’t worry, you’ll catch up soon. No one expect you to be acting like before the accident, you know?” 

Laurent still felt guilty, and didn’t want to talk about it at that moment. “Yeah, I know,” he said, changing the subject. “So, do you prefer tuna and mayo, or ham and cheese?” 

“What?” 

Laurent sighed. “I’m bringing you a sandwich, Jord. I am given to understand that there was an emergency that took hours of your life, and it’s almost nine pm. So, you must be hungry.” 

“Laurent, you are an angel!” Jord shouted, and Laurent laughed as he picked up the sandwiches and went downstairs to the ER. 

**Ω**

Laurent wasn’t _exactly_ allowed into the ER, but it was filled with people, and no one noticed him until he found Jord. He was into the nurse station and lightened up when he saw him, him and his bag. 

“Here you are, my saviour!” he jumped up and grabbed the sandwich Laurent was handing him. 

They ate in silence, and they were halfway their second sandwich when another nurse – who Laurent knew by sight – sat heavily in a chair beside Jord’s. 

“Hey Cassandra, what’s up?” asked Jord, frowning. It wasn’t really an uncommon reaction in ER, when you had time to sit you were exhausted, but Jord had never seen her like this. 

“It’s nothing. Just- a shitty patient,” she sighed. “I mean, no! Not the patient but- he's been beaten and he’s pretty bad. Just came in covered in bruises and blood. The ambulance had to convince him for an hour to come here because he didn’t want to. He’s homeless, I think he was so scared. He hasn’t moved from the waiting room. He allowed me to clean some of his wounds, but- I don’t know. I hate these situations.” 

“Shit,” said Jord. “Those bastards. Do you call the police? The social services?” 

Cassandra shook her head. “No, I was about to, but I think he understood that and he almost started panicking telling me not to call anyone. I was about to call Andrea to ask her what to do.” she sighed, and got up to make the phone call. 

Jord sighed and looked up to Laurent who hadn’t said a word and he looked very, very pale now. 

“Laurent? Are you ok?” 

No, he thought. His heart was about to explode. 

“Jord,” he said, his voice serious. “I think- I think I know him.” 

“What? Who? The homeless guy?” 

“He is not homeless!” Laurent almost shouted. “I mean, at the moment he is but- he is not.” 

“I’m confused. I know all your friends and you-” 

“Jord,” Laurent interrupted him bluntly. “He’s not my friend. I just know him.” he sighed, and closed his eyes. “Can you bring me to him? I think- I hope he will calm down if he sees me.” 

Jord looked at him with a puzzled expression and, honestly, Laurent couldn’t blame him. He was presumptuous, to say the least, to think that he could be a calming presence for Damianos. But he wanted to see him, he had to see him. He couldn’t leave him alone, and injured, in the ER of a hospital in a new city. 

“Please, just bring me to him,” he begged, and Jord must have been very curious, because he made a gesture like a ‘come on’ and started walking. 

When they arrived in the waiting room, he was on a hospital bed, curled on his bag with his eyes closed. Laurent eyes softened as he saw him, and his chest tightened. Jord saw that and took him aside by the arm. 

“So you know him?” 

Laurent nodded, breathing shakily. 

“I need his name, Laurent,” Jord said, looking him in the eyes. He wasn’t just his friend anymore, but he was a nurse, and he needed this information. 

“You will not call the police, will you?” he said, almost praying him. 

“Laurent...” 

“Please. He- he has gone through so much already. Please don’t call anyone.” 

“I can’t promise you that. Cassandra has already called the head nurse.” 

Laurent sighed, and closed his eyes. “Damianos, that’s his name,” 

Jord sighed, too, but nodded, and approached him. 

“Damianos?” he said, gently, and Laurent saw him jerk awake, clutching his bag. He saw the fear in his eyes and couldn’t keep himself from feeling hurt. He didn’t know why he felt so simpathetic towards him, he- just did. 

“Hey, easy. I’m Jord, I’m a nurse. That’s your name, right? Damianos.” 

Damianos relaxed a little when he saw Jord – he was great at his job and was wonderful with patients – and nodded, turning in his direction. From this angle, Laurent could see a big, purple bruise on his right cheek, and saw that his lip was split. 

“Ok, great, Damianos. I think there’s someone here who knows you.” 

Laurent saw him frown, like he thought he had nobody who knew him here, or that could help him, so he made a step forward and that’s when Damianos saw him. He widened his eyes like he couldn’t believe it. 

“Laurent?” he said, incredulous. 

He attempted a smile, and stepped forward until he reached the bed. He resisted the urge to touch his face. “Damianos, what happened? Who did this to you?” 

Damen averted his eyes, ashamed, and clutched his hands. They were covered in dried blood and they hurt. 

“I don’t know. I tried to hit them back but they were too many –three or four – and I was... I was too weak, and I was asleep when they started to shout at me.” 

“That’s inacceptable!” Laurent shouted, now very angry. “Where were you? There must have been some security cameras. You should report to the police.” 

“No!” Damen reacted, shouting. “No, Laurent. I don’t wanna think about it anymore. Plus, no one gives a damn about some guys beating a fucking homeless.” 

Laurent felt his anger subside a little. He understood his feelings, his anger but his tiredness. But he couldn’t let him give up. 

“Listen to me, Damianos. I do,” he said. Damen looked at him like he didn’t understand. “I care. I told you yesterday what Auguste and I wanted to do. He would have wanted to help you, too.” 

He felt Jord’s gaze burning on him, but he managed to avoid it, at least for the moment. 

“I don’t-” Damen hesitated. 

“I’ve got you, okay? Please, let me help you. I’ll graduate soon, and, in the meantime, I know someone we can trust. Please report this to the police, we can’t let them be free to do this to another person. To someone who can’t defend themselves.” 

While he was speaking, he had put his hand on his leg, and now Damen was looking at it without saying a word. Laurent removed it quickly, and waited for an answer. 

“Ok,” Damen whispered, and he let out a heavy breath. He heard Jord do the same, before he spoke. 

“Ok, I’ll go inform Cassandra. Laurent, stay with him until I come back.” 

Laurent nodded, but he didn’t need Jord saying it. He would have never left Damianos. He watched his friend disappear, and then they were alone. 

An awkward silence fell between them, until Damianos decided to speak. 

“Laurent, listen,” he said, and Laurent looked at him. “I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” Laurent frowned. 

“I’m sorry for this morning. I shouldn’t have left like that, after all you’d done for me. I just- I panicked. I don’t know what you know about me but talking about Jokaste and Kastor and my father- I couldn’t bear it. It felt too much, and I needed to get away from that. I’m sorry.” 

Laurent closed his eyes, and shook his head. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have looked into your life like that. Or at least not mention it to you. I was so focused on you because of Auguste that I forgot that you needed space.” 

Damianos was looking at him now with a strange expression that Laurent couldn’t decipher. “You know... I feel so ashamed, Laurent. Once I was able to defend myself. Now... sometimes I feel like I can barely stand. I feel so tired. I- sometimes I-” he stopped and, looking at him, he looked like he was going to cry. 

“Damianos-” 

“Damen,” he said. 

“Damen. I know it’s hard. Actually, I don’t. I don’t know what it feels to live on the streets, or not knowing where I’ll sleep every night. I don’t know what it feels to be beaten just because someone was bored and decided to. You don’t have to justify to me.” 

“I didn’t know either, Laurent. I was rich, and healthy, and happy even if not everything in my life was as I wanted it. I don’t know how I ended up here. It breaks me every time. I’m so tired.” he said again, and closed his eyes against the hard pillow of the bed. 

Laurent watched him drift off to sleep and decided in that moment that, no matter what, he would have helped him regain his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so even if I am almost a nurse, I still have zero idea of how getting out of coma works. So i made my researches and I hope I wrote something that makes a little clinical sense. BTW it's still fiction.  
> I know Laurent said Auguste was dead, but that's a form of self-protection for him.
> 
> I'm sorry Damen it's so broken.
> 
> Just a note: I wanted to write Laurent like he never got out of the "Lovely boy who liked to read and was trusting and loved helping people"-phase, even after everything that happened to him.
> 
> Btw I love Jord as a nurse.


	3. Guiding Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, and I'm so, so late, and I have no excuses.

It was past midnight when Laurent and Damen left the E.R. The previous hours had been filled with interminable questions, judging looks and too many photos of his bruised face and body. Damen had answered, had stood, had turned his head this way and the other, had stared into the lens of the camera until the flash burned his eyes and made them teary. 

Laurent had been there all the time. He had insisted on staying with him and, deep down, Damen wanted it. He had managed to get forty-five minutes of sleep from which he had woken up more exhausted than before and with a killing headache that made him painfully photosensitive. When he had woken up, Laurent had still been there, just a few meters away, talking quickly at the phone in a hushed way, to avoid waking Damen. When he had seen Damen watching him, he had hung up and had come closer to the hospital bed, a small smile on his lips. He seemed weary, and he had dark shadows under his eyes. 

“You must be tired. Maybe- you should go home,” Damen had said in a whisper. 

Laurent had sighed a little, but had shaken his head. 

“I want to stay, until the cops arrive,” he had said it like it was obvious that he would have. He had closed his eyes and sat on the uncomfortable chair beside his bed and they had stayed silent for some minutes until the cops’ arrival. 

Damen had to give them his generalities: name, surname, date of birth, and a statement of what had happened. Laurent had opened his mouth to protest, but Damen had just sighed and told them everything with impressive coolness. It felt surreal, almost like it hadn’t happened to him, still he bore the marks on his body. 

The hardest part for him, Damen had learned to understand, was telling the reasons why he was on the streets. Maybe they hadn’t recognised him, maybe they had, but it hardly mattered. It was hard to tell them _I was sleeping in an alley, under a cardboard box, when I felt_ something _hitting me_. 

“Can you tell me the name of the street?” one of the cops had asked, and Damen had shaken his head. 

“I don’t know. It was near a closed restaurant, but I don’t-” 

“The paramedics said they found him near Fortaine’s,” Laurent interrupted, from the corner he was sitting in. He was watching him and the cops with a sour expression, as he didn’t like them at all. His expression had gone even grimmer when the older one, a cop named Herode, had glanced at him and told him harshly to let Damen talk. 

“Clearly he’s shocked, and he doesn’t know the area,” Laurent spat, _clearly_ not going to shut up. 

The cop had looked at him grimacing, but had let go. 

After the interrogation there had been the photos, and another cop had made him take off his clothes, exposing his body. Damen had wanted Laurent there. He was self-conscious for the first time in his life since he was prepubescent, too tall and too slim, and had to change in the gym in front of other kids.  
But Laurent was all he could hold on at the moment. His eyes had never left Damen’s as the nurse stripped him, put his clothes in a bag and left him with only his boxers on in front of strangers. He had seen Laurent’s eyes go softer when he had seen his exposed skin, glaring even if just for a second before looking into his eyes again.  
Damen himself hadn’t seen his own body. He had only looked at his scraped and bloodied hands, skin broken when he had tried to crawl away from the fists and the kicks. He wasn’t going to look at himself now, but Laurent had, and his expression was all that Damen had needed to know that it was bad, if the pain alone wasn’t enough to tell. 

When it was over, the cops had left saying that they would have been in touch soon. Damen only nodded, but Laurent had muttered _you better_ , before turning away from them. 

When they were left alone, Damen sunk his head into his knees, breathing as steadily as he could. Nothing happened for a few minutes; he was focusing on the noises of the E.R. outside the waiting room that was still miraculously empty, the sirens, the noise of wheelchairs on the floor. The dark made him feel better, the headache only fading a little. 

“Damia- Damen?” he heard Laurent say his name softly, as though he didn’t want to disturb him. He lifted his head, and looked at him. He was even more tired now, Damen could see, and he felt incredibly selfish and guilty because he had kept him there with him. He felt something bubble up in his throat and in the back of his eyes, but he forced it back. 

“I’m sorry, Laurent,” he said, and found that his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. “You should go home, sleep. I’m sorry you had to stay here.” 

Laurent was looking at him with a strange expression, and just sighed. “You know you are not a burden, Damen. Or- maybe you think you are, but I swear, I never do anything I don’t want. And I wanted to stay here because you needed someone you at least knew. You didn’t deserve to be left alone.” 

He spoke like he was emptying his heart, because his words seemed so spontaneous and his tone was so soft, and Damen almost believed him. He didn’t understand him, though. Before he could say anything, Laurent spoke again. 

“Please, come home with me. Just- for some nights, if you don’t want to stay with me. Just until the bruises fade, and the pain stops. Don’t- don’t go out there again. I can’t have you out there again, can you understand me? It would be like failing, to me.” 

“You can’t bring home every charity case you find on the street, Laurent,” he said, and his words were sharp like blades. They hit the other man, because he looked hurt, even though he quickly recovered. 

“I know, but you aren’t,” he simply stated. “You need my help, whether you want it or not, and not just for what happened to you tonight.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I-” Laurent sighed again. “Never mind. Will you come home with me?” 

Damen thought about his possibilities, and there were none. The only one was Auguste’s brother, not the De Vere that he was looking for, nor the one he expected, but the one that, nevertheless, was willing to help him. 

He stood up and just nodded. Laurent smiled.

**Ω**

Laurent opened the door of the flat and turned the lights on, gently guiding Damen to the bathroom. This one was Laurent’s private bathroom and Damen had looked at him in confusion as the other had led him to his bedroom.  
Damen eyed at the large bathtub, and Laurent saw him doing that, and started to fill it with water.

“Just a few minutes and the water will be ready. I checked the temperature, I hope it’s not too hot,” Laurent said, and left for a second to grab one of the soft towels that he kept in the closet. “Take your time, I’ll just go take a shower.” 

Damen was left alone, again, in Laurent’s bathroom. This time he didn’t bother looking at himself, he just stripped off his clothes and sank in the wonderfully warm water. He felt like the warmth was soothing his skin and muscles, almost reaching his bones, and he dreamed that his black and purple bruises would be gone when he got out the tub. Sadly, that would not happen. 

When he got out the tub, he dried and dressed quickly but carefully, trying not to touch the painful bruises too much. Every one of them caused him a spike of pain. The doctor had told him that he had been lucky, there were no ribs broken. 

_Lucky_.  
Damen didn’t consider himself lucky. He would be if the people who had been hitting him had killed him instead. 

His heart sank as he realised what he was thinking, but he _couldn’t_ stop. How easy would it be, to just stop caring, to close his eyes and give up. He had seen enough movies to know there were a lot of ways to die. Painful ones, for sure, but not as painful as living another day like that. 

He couldn’t do that to Laurent, though. Not now, when he had welcomed him into his house, and looked at him with his strange, soft expression. 

He cleaned the tub, and hung the towel on the hook, and wiped off the steam and humidity from the mirror and the sink, and it wasn’t until everything seemed clean that he got out of the bathroom. 

When he opened the door, he freezed. Laurent was in the middle of the room, his back bare, and he was changing into a pair of soft sweatpants.  
He didn’t know why he felt so wrong, looking at Laurent changing, but he still felt it. 

“Fuck- Laurent, I- sorry,” he stuttered, and turned to face the bathroom door. 

“Damen!” Laurent said, his voice just an octave higher. “Sorry, I thought you would- I thought you were not finished yet.” 

Damen waited until he was completely dressed, and then he turned. Laurent usual pale skin was now a shade pinker, and had a soft smile on his lips. “I’m sorry,” Laurent said again, and opened the door of the bedroom to lead him into the living room. 

Laurent had prepared the couch for him and, on the low table, there was a steaming mug. “I thought you may want something to relax. I made you chamomile. I drink it all the time when I’m stressed.” 

Damen just looked at him, incredulous. He just couldn’t believe that Laurent was doing all of this for him. 

“Not that you are just _stressed_. Your situation is much worse, I just thought it might help you a little,” he scratched the back of his head, nervously. “If you don’t like it, just empty it in the sink, or-” 

“Laurent,” Damen interrupted him, and walked to the table to take the mug. “Thank you. I mean it.” 

He sat on the large couch, smelling the sweet scent of laundry on the sheets. He took a sip from the mug and closed his eyes, letting the warm spread into his body. He didn’t open his eyes as he felt Laurent sitting next to him. 

“I’m sorry they did this to you,” Laurent whispered. Damen couldn’t open his eyes, because he would have found his blue eyes looking so sad at him, and he was sure he would have cried. “How much does it hurt? I have some painkillers for tonight, until we go to the pharmacy to buy the medicines the doctor prescribed.” 

Damen shook his head, but he didn’t mean to say it didn’t hurt, because it did. It was like every part of his body was on fire, and he could move only so slightly, and it still hurt like hell. 

“Laurent please,” he begged, now looking at him. “I can’t afford those medicines. And you- Christ, you are just a student. You need your money, don’t waste it on me. I- I can go on without painkiller, it’s not that bad anyway.” 

Laurent snorted, and shook his head. “I have plenty of money. I- I just want to help you. Besides, in a few months I’ll graduate,” he said that like it somehow changed the whole thing. “I really don’t have money problems. And I don’t believe you, it must hurt a lot.” 

“It does not,” Damen insisted, stubborn, and finished his chamomile, standing up abruptly as to make a statement: _see? I can move perfectly._

He forced a breath in when his left side tensed, burning with pain. He still managed to walk to the counter and he placed the mug on it, clenching his fist on the cold marble. 

Laurent didn’t say a word. He just got up and left something on the table before looking at him. 

“It’s almost two AM. We should both sleep,” he said, softly, and turned the lights off, only leaving a small one in the kitchen on, that spread a pleasant warm light, but not too bright that would prevent him from sleeping. “Good night, Damen,” he said, and disappeared into the dark. 

**Ω**

Over the next few days, Damen tried to get used to the idea that Laurent wanted him in his home. He had often thought of leaving, again, of being a burden, that Laurent was only doing it out of pity, and the thing tore him apart. He felt uncomfortable sleeping on the couch, and every morning he always tried to wake up before the other to not be seen asleep, vulnerable. He wanted to be the first to see Laurent, who always greeted him with a smile before starting to make a cup of tea. 

What made him feel even more uncomfortable was _how_ Laurent made him feel. It was nice to be with him, he was intelligent, smart and funny, and he was always trying to involve him in some conversation. He made him meals and Damen knew that he always controlled how much food he left on the plate, even though he never said anything. 

Damen couldn’t do it. When Laurent left to go to campus and take classes, he felt so tired that all he did was curl up under the covers and sleep until he heard the front door open. For him it was the last semester; a few more months and he would have graduated. It was understandable, normal, that Laurent would stay in the library to study more than normal, and by the time he got home it was already past eight o'clock at night, sometimes even later. 

He felt useless. He saw how much Laurent tried, while he was just incapable of feeling anything other than hopeless and so, so tired. Every night he would think _tomorrow I’m going to change_ , but the truth was that he never found the strength to do it. 

One late afternoon Damen was in the bathroom and had decided to shave, when he slipped on the rug. He tried to steady himself on the sink, but he only managed to shove the toothbrush glass on the floor and falling on it with his right hand. He felt a sharp pain and quickly removed his hand, noticing that it was covered in blood that was flowing out of a deep wound. Damen stared at the thick liquid without doing anything. Watching the blood on his arm, dripping on the floor, the pulsing pain on the wound if he tried to move his hand... he almost felt peaceful. With his other hand, he tried to squeeze the two edges of the wound and he felt this deep, satisfying feeling when he felt more blood coming out. 

Then, he heard the front door open and Laurent call his name. 

“Damen?” he asked, not finding him on the couch as he usually was. 

“I’m- I’m in the bathroom,” he replied, still sitting on the floor with his bloodied arm. 

“Oh, I’m glad you are awake!” he heard Laurent say, while he undressed and put his bag on the couch. He heard his voice becoming closer. “Was everything okay, today? I thought we could-” 

Laurent stopped when he opened the bathroom door, and Damen saw him pale when he looked at his arm. There was still blood coming out – the wound much deeper than Damen thought – but he barely felt the pain anymore. 

“What happened?” he cried, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his palm, pressing hard to stop the blood. That made it sting, and Damen closed his eyes, breathing steadily. 

“I wanted to shave but I fell. On the glass,” he answered, pointing at the broken glass with a nod of his head. He heard Laurent sigh, but he simply got up and went to grab a medical kit. He came back with a spray of antiseptic aqueous solution and some bandages, and he silently cleaned the wound and wrapped it in gauzes. Then, he started cleaning the drops of blood on the floor tiles, but Damen stopped him. 

“Laurent,” he said, and that made the other man look at him. “I’m sorry. Let me clean.” 

Damen saw that Laurent wanted to object. “No, please. Just- go take a bath, relax. It’s been a long day. I’ll clean here.” 

Laurent got up reluctantly, eyeing his hand while he stood. Damen could feel his hesitancy, his worry, and tried to smile to reassure him. “Laurent, I’m okay. I feel ok. You don’t have to worry,” he said, and Laurent just nodded before he left him alone. 

When he heard Laurent’s door closing, he let out a long, shaky breath. His hands were trembling but he forced them still as he picked up the shattered glass and cleaned the crimson stains on the floor until everything was immaculate. Then, he pressed to fingers into the bandage. 

A sharp pain exploded in his hand, as if lightning had struck him, and Damen hissed, feeling warm tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes. The bandage was dyed red, and Damen kept his gaze fixed for a few seconds on the spot that was widening more and more on the white of the fabric. His heart was pounding in his chest like it hadn’t been in weeks, and he felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a drug. He had never felt as alive as that moment, and he was thrilled that he could still feel this way when he thought there was no hope for him anymore. 

He went into the kitchen and started preparing dinner. He had always loved cooking, something that had learnt from his step-mother, but he didn’t do it often enough. Tonight, though, he wanted to cook for Laurent.  
He was halfway the recipe when Laurent entered into the kitchen, looking him with a soft expression. 

“I’m glad you are feeling better, Damen,” he said, a small smile on his lips. 

Damen only nodded, reciprocating the smile. “It’s almost ready, if you want to set the table,” he said, and it felt strange how natural it was for him to be cooking and talking to Laurent. It was almost domestic, and Damen felt his heart ache thinking that he had never experienced something like this, not even when he was with Jokaste, but he was now, with someone he barely knew and who was probably helping him just out of pity. 

While he was lost in his thoughts, Laurent had set the table and was patiently waiting for dinner to be ready. He was looking at him and Damen could barely stand it. His gaze made his skin prickle, and felt uncomfortable, knowing that Laurent’s deep, blue eyes were on him, like they could see right through his soul. He didn’t want anyone to know what was in his mind, and he felt that, if he wasn’t careful, Laurent would have. 

The timer rang, fortunately in time to allow him to escape from that situation and give him a plausible excuse to turn his back on Laurent. He opened the oven, and it released an intense, rich smell. 

“It smells so good, Damen,” Lauret said, breaking the silence between them. 

“It was my mother’s recipe. She was from the south and cooking was something she loved. Or so my father told me, I never me her” he stopped, just for a second. “Anyway, it’s really good.” 

Damen placed the pan on the table and served Laurent, waiting for him to take a bite before saying anything. He saw him close his eyes and practically melt as he tasted the dish and, despite everything, Damen felt a sense of satisfaction and something vaguely resembling happiness. 

“Damen, it’s- it’s really good. It’s amazing,” Laurent said, taking another bite and almost moaning around the fork. “What is it?” 

“Moussaka,” he said. “It’s eggplant, minced beef and bechamel on top. It’s a traditional dish, and one of my favourite, actually.” 

“Yeah, I can see why,” Laurent said, smiling. Then he looked at his empty plate. “You’re not eating?” 

Damen swallowed. “I’m-” he hesitated. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t hungry, or Laurent would have asked questions, but... the happiness that he had felt before cooking had faded, and he had no reason to explain that. He felt empty again, and he just wanted to close his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll take some,” he said, instead, and saw Laurent’s shoulders lose some of their tension and Damen thought that he could eat something if it made Laurent happy. 

And so he did.

**Ω**

Damen woke up when he heard the sound of his cellphone ringing. At first he didn’t understand; he was still half asleep and it was hard orienting in the first hours of the morning, in a house that wasn’t his own.

When he saw the caller ID, he sobered up immediately. It was Kastor. In the second before answering, he thought that maybe – maybe – things would solve, that Kastor would tell him to come home, that they could sort everything out. 

“Kastor,” he breathed. “I’m so happy you-” 

“ _Damen_ ,” the voice on the other end said, and he felt like his heart stopped. 

“Jokaste?” he asked. He couldn’t believe it was her. Why was her calling? “Jokaste, what are you-” 

Laurent made his appearance in that exact moment, as Damen was saying her name, and he frowned. Damen looked at him with his eyes wide, his expression helpless and shook his head. 

“I heard a phone. Damen, is everything alright?” Laurent asked and, when Damen looked at him, lost, he quickly sat beside him. 

“Damen, I don’t have time,” Jokaste said on the other side. “I managed to get Kastor’s phone. You have to listen to me, now.” 

Laurent was looking at him with a hard expression, now, and Damen flinched when he grabbed the phone from his hands and put the speaker on. Laurent put a finger on his lips: _don’t say I’m here_. Damen nodded, still too shocked to argue. 

“You can’t trust him, Damen. If he calls you, and tells you to come home, please, _please_ Damen, don’t,” she was whispering and her breath was laboured, and he could almost feel her heart pounding. 

“I don’t understand. Why are you calling me? He said that- we would fix things. You are wrong, Jokaste. I don’t even know why you-” 

“Don’t you understand, Damianos?” she raised her voice, cursing a little the moment after. “I’m sorry about- everything I’ve done but I- I can’t explain everything now, Damen.” 

Damen felt his head spin, and his eyes filled with tears. “Jokaste, please,” he begged, and his mind went back to the day his father died, when he begged Kastor to let him see his father. He realised that he was crying, and Jokaste stayed silent for a second. 

When she spoke again, she seemed on the verge of tears herself. “ _Min klais, agápi mou_ ,” she said, and at that, Damen sobbed. He couldn’t hear her call him like that, it hurt worse than his injuries. They sounded like happiness that was long gone. “If I could, I’d come to you, but I can’t. Damen, he- fuck,” Jokaste cursed and spoke faster. “He’s waking up. You can’t trust him; days ago I heard him talking on the phone with someone- I think it was someone from the north, from Arles, by the accent. He was talking about your father, and about owning the company. Damen, I think Kastor killed Theomedes. Don’t ever come here or-” 

They heard a scream. Damen, already shocked by her words, turned his eyes to Laurent only to see him white, his eyes frozen on the sounds from the cellphone. 

“ _What the fuck are you doing, Jokaste?!_ ” Kastor yelled, but his voice was muffled, far away. They heard the sound of a slap, and Jokaste’s screams. 

“ _Kastor, please, please! I was just- I wanted to know if he was okay, I swear, please!_ ” 

The sound of her screams was unbearable, and Damen stood up to look at Laurent. “We have to do something! He’s- she’s pregnant, Laurent, he’s going to-” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “Please, call the police!” 

On the other side of the phone, Kastor was still beating her. Jokaste was still crying and screaming, begging his fiancé to stop hitting her.  
Laurent was doing nothing, and Damen couldn’t bear it anymore. 

“Kastor!” he screamed into the phone, and some of the noise stopped, like his brother was just realising the call was still going on. He heard a curse, before someone – Kastor – picked up. “Are you crazy? Leave her-” 

“Damianos,” he said, and his tone was like he had never heard it before. Cruel. “Brother, it seems like you are still alive. I admire that, but I should have known. You were always too tenacious, even when you were younger,” 

“Kastor, what are you say-” he said, but his brother screamed, interrupting his words. 

“Shut. Up!” Kastor groaned. “ _Kastor, Kastor, please_ ,” he mocked him. “I can’t fucking stand you anymore! I was hoping you would die somewhere, alone. But you can’t! You can’t leave me the fuck alone, can you? You and- this bitch. She will pay for what she has done, ruined our perfect plan- stupid whore, I should kill you while he’s listening,” Kastor spat, but this time Jokaste didn’t cry, and Damen heard her cursing him. 

“Kastor, what are you doing? Are you gone crazy?” 

“You were always so sweet, Damen. Couldn’t see what you were doing to me, uh? What dad wanted to give you, not me! Me, who had stayed faithful, at his side, for so long... he wanted to sell the fucking company because of you!” Kastor laughed briefly. “Oh, there are _so many things_ you don’t know about me, dear brother. But I know a lot about you. How’s winter in Arles? And how’s Auguste DeVere? Oh, I forgot!” Kastor laughed. “He’s fucking brain-dead. No one can help you, not even that sorry excuse for a man that he called his brother. Oh, by the way, tell him Uncle says ‘hi’,” Kastor spoke with evil in his voice. “And don’t you dare call the police or you’ll find out how far we can go.” 

He ended the call. 

Damen was a mess, and still held the phone in his right hand like it could give him more answers. When he turned towards Laurent, he saw that he had turned ashen. He didn’t have the time to spoke, because Laurent ran away and retched in the toilet. 

Damen went after him and saw him curled on the toilet seat, coughing and spitting bile. His hands trembled on the cold material, and Damen felt the urge to held him. Instead, he just said his name and touched his shoulder. 

Laurent’s reaction was immediate. He jerked away from him, violently, and looked at him with wide, scared eyes, red from coughing and crying, his face incredibly pale as he spoke. 

“ _Don’t touch me_ ,” he said, his voice barely audible, weak, frightened. It struck Damen; he had never seen Laurent like that in those few days they had been together. Nothing in his behavior, in his voice, had ever foreshadowed that there was such a vulnerable and frightened part in him. And Damen didn’t know exactly what caused it, but he knew that, somehow, it had something to do with what Kastor had said. Kastor had said a lot of things that were whizzing around in Damen’s brain. 

Now, all that mattered was helping Laurent. He kneeled in front of him and tried to gently talk him out of that state. Laurent was curled on the bathroom floor, his eyes now closed, and was still shaking. Damen felt powerless. He didn’t know what to do, or say, to make him feel even a little bit better, so he just stood up and turned to walk away. 

“Wait,” Laurent’s voice, even if it was just a whisper, stopped him. “Damen, you- can you- please, stay,” he said, and Damen didn’t have to think about it twice. He sat in front of him and took the pale hand that Laurent was offering him, and held it hard. The touch felt electric, but Damen ignored that feeling, putting it away for another moment. 

They stayed like that, hands linked, until Laurent was comfortable enough to open his eyes and look at him. 

“Damianos...” he started, his voice hoarse. “There are some thing that- that I haven’t told you.” 

Damen frowned, but let him continue. Laurent swallowed, his lower lip tortured by his teeth. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you right away but I- I didn’t think you would-” 

Laurent stopped, like that wasn’t the point of the whole conversation. “You know what happened with Arles. What you don’t know, what no one knows, it’s that- my uncle was behind it all. He bribed himself out of it, and made sure someone else was found guilty instead of him,” 

Damen frowned, doing a quick math. Laurent would have been... what? Thirteen at the time? How could he know, and not the other associates? That had been such a huge scandal. 

“How can you know? Did Auguste know?” 

“No, he didn’t. He was... shocked, of course, but he was one of the few. Apparently, everyone else knew, but my uncle... he’s dangerous, Damianos. If Kastor mentioned him-” Laurent paused, pursing his lips. “Since you came here, I’ve made... some researches. And after the call, I think I’m right. You are in danger, and so am I.” 

Damen looked at him, frowning, like he didn’t, couldn’t understand what he was saying. Laurent’s hold on his hand was almost painful as he spoke his next words. “Kastor killed your father, Damen. And my uncle is coming for us, too.” 


	4. Below My Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 02/12/2020: for anyone who read the previous chapters before this date, I have changed the final dialogue of the last chapter. That is because while I was writing this one I realised I had made a mistake and anticipated a dialogue which I wanted to happen in this chapter and in other circumstances. 
> 
> This happens when you write a story chapter by chapter and you wait months before you start writing the next one. But well, what can I do.
> 
> You might want to re-read that part, even if it's not drastically changed.  
> The "-" mean that a day passes.
> 
> I hope you like this one! I appreciate every one of your kudos and comments, they make me want to keep going on with this story when I don't feel like it.

Auguste opened his eyes. Everything around him was too bright white and it hurt to look. He closed his eyes again. 

\- 

When he opened them again, he saw someone close to him. He felt a slight tugging at his neck and he winced. It stung. He didn’t understand. 

\- 

Auguste opened his eyes and flinched at the bright light that hurt his eyes. His room was not white. 

\- 

Auguste opened his eyes and felt a terrible feeling of dread suffocating him. He felt like screaming, but no sound came out. He could not breathe. Then he remembered: Laurent. Laurent was dead. He felt tears running down his cheeks as he struggled to breathe. He tried to move his hands but they were like frozen. Then he heard someone scream. Laurent had screamed. Laurent was dead. 

He saw his vision being invaded by faces, and arms, and then he could breathe again when something was pulled out of his throat. He gasped, and he screamed Laurent’s name. Everything hurt, his body hurt, but the pain in his heart was worse. He kept screaming, and then he fell asleep. 

When Auguste woke up, he felt terrified. There had been people without faces following him and Laurent. And Laurent was dead. His little brother was gone. He started screaming but he felt his voice was weak. He wouldn’t have heard himself if he wasn’t screaming in his head. 

Someone entered the room, running, and he soon started to feel calmer; the screaming lowered its voice. Someone he didn’t recognise was looking at him. 

“Mr. DeVere, do you know where you are?” 

No, he didn’t know. 

“You are at the hospital, do you remember something?” 

Auguste shook his head. “Me... Laurent... running, um... people,” 

He frowned. He saw the nurse nod briefly, giving him a smile. “I’ll be back in a moment, Mr. DeVere,” 

“No! Wait. Laurent,” he said, his eyes wide. 

She smiled again, and came closer. He felt her hand on his and it was warm. Warmer than everything he had felt since. “Your brother’s okay. We have called him, he will be here soon,” 

Auguste frowned again, and then he got angry. “Do tell me,” he asked, but she just shook her head. 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she said again, and left the room. 

Auguste felt angry because they were lying to him. They said Laurent was coming, but Laurent was _dead_. He had seen his body, the blood pooling around his head and he had felt so desperate since, so cold and so lonely. He could only remember the faceless people killing him, and his sobs, and his body on the ground. 

A moment later, another person entered the white space, and asked him questions. 

“Mr. DeVere, I’m doctor Paschal. Can you remember your name?” 

Auguste nodded, and said it. The man smiled briefly. “That’s okay, one step at a time,” 

Auguste frowned again and tried to said it again, but it was hard to make the sounds come out. What the hell was his problem? 

“You had an accident, ten months ago, and you had been in the hospital since,” he said, his voice plain. Auguste laughed. What? He was joking. He looked at his body and saw his hands. They were pale, but they were his usual hands. They were shaking, though. 

He saw them starting to shake harder, and then he saw nothing else. 

\- 

When Auguste woke up, he felt terrified, and exhausted. He opened his eyes and saw Laurent. It couldn’t be true, because Laurent was dead. He had seen his body just the day before, he had heard him scream and cry and then he had felt incredibly cold and lonely. 

He was curled on the bed, his head resting on his arms, and Auguste had the terrible feeling that he was seeing his ghost. He said his name, but it came out wrong, somehow. But he jerked awake, and looked at him. 

Auguste started to cry, and Laurent was crying too. He curled on his chest and started sobbing, his fingers through the locks of his hair, and his name on his lips. 

“I thought I would never see you again,” he said, straightening his body and burying his face into his hands instead. 

“I...” 

“It’s okay... y-you don’t have to talk right now,” Laurent said, and Auguste was still crying and Laurent was still crying. Then he did something he couldn’t see – his vision was so bad, had always been so bad? - and after a few moments there were other people in the room. 

“You... died, Laurent. Why, um, why are you... here?” he managed to say, and he saw Laurent frown and he looked so worried as he glanced at his side. 

“It’s probably what he remembers from the time he was in a coma,” he heard someone say. “It’s not unusual for people to remember... we can call it dreams, but for them it’s very vivid, like they’re memories. He probably also forgot a few days before the accident, and he won’t be able to form new memories for some days,” 

“Accident?” Auguste asked, slowly, confused. What accident? 

Laurent seemed wary, but put a hand on his and explained, but it was wrong. 

“No,” he said, but Laurent just made a small smile. 

“Don’t worry, we have time to talk about it. Now rest,” 

And Auguste did, feeling like he hadn’t slept in days. 

\- 

When Auguste opened his eyes, the white didn’t seem so bright, but it was still fastidious. “Light,” he said, and he saw Laurent moving immediately, and the room went dimmer. 

“Auguste?” he asked, in a small voice. 

“Laurent,” he said, and smiled when it came out like he wanted. Then he frowned. “What? You were dead,” 

Laurent froze, and he saw him sigh. “I’m not dead, I’m right here, I’m with you,” 

“I, um... remember, you” 

“You had an accident, and were in a coma for ten months. I am not dead, I’m here,” 

Auguste felt confused. “Accident?” 

“You were coming home from work, a drunk driver hit your car. Can you remember?” 

“No,” Auguste said. Was Laurent certain? “Sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll take care of you, I swear,” he said, and sat on the bed, gently drying his cheeks. “Don’t cry,” he said, softly, and Auguste looked at him in the eyes. 

“You... were dead,” he said. _You were dead, how could I not cry seeing you?_

“I’m not dead. I’m right here,” Laurent said, and this time, Auguste almost believed him. 

\- 

Auguste woke up and saw Laurent. He didn’t move, because Laurent was sleeping and he didn’t want to wake him. Was Laurent supposed to be there? He remembered blood, and his screaming and crying, but it felt like a scene from a movie. Something didn’t seem right. And he was here. But he still felt his heart rate quicken. 

Auguste was confused, but looked at him until he woke up, and saw him smile. 

“You are awake,” he said. 

Auguste nodded. “You,” he answered. He hated his words. How come he couldn’t make them sound right? Laurent seemed to understand, though. 

“Yeah, me too. I’m sorry I fell asleep,” he apologised, still smiling. 

“It okay,” he said, closing his eyes. He felt thirsty. “Water?” he asked, frowning. Laurent immediately reached for a bottle; the cap was pierced and Laurent put a plastic straw into the hole. 

“Here,” Laurent said, placing the straw between his lips. He took a few sips. 

“Hand... can’t move,” he said. He wanted to take the bottle into his hands, but he just... couldn’t. 

Laurent took his hand, instead, and squeezed it. “You are weak. It’s okay, you can’t really move your arms and legs,” he explained, and he saw his face cloud with sadness. 

“No?” he asked. “What?” 

“You were in an accident, ten months ago. A drunk driver hit you, and you have been in a coma since,” 

Auguste widened his eyes. What? Was Laurent joking? He... surely, he would have remembered something like that. Laurent seemed to be sensing his confusion, because he squeezed his hand again. 

“I know it’s difficult to believe. We’ll get there eventually. I’ll take care of you. Always,” 

So, Laurent was serious. Auguste nodded. He knew Laurent would always be with him. 

\- 

Auguste opened his eyes and Laurent was there. He was sitting in the armchair, a huge book on his legs. He hadn’t noticed him yet. 

“Laurent,” he said, after a few minutes. His head perked up and abandoned the book on the armchair, hastily standing to come close to him. 

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “How are you feeling?” 

“Tired... head,” 

“Your head hurts?” Laurent frowned, and Auguste nodded. His frown deepened. “I’m going to call a nurse,” 

“Wait. Laurent, you... said...” Auguste closed his eyes, trying to speak as clearer as he could. “You say, um... I... an accident?” 

Laurent widened his eyes. “You remember?” 

“You. Yesterday, said,” he exhaled; had talking always been this difficult? 

Laurent seemed extremely happy, as he cradled his head into his hands and placed a kiss on his head. “Oh, Auguste. Yes, you had an accident. Ten months ago. A drunk driver hit your car, and you had been in a coma, since,” 

“Oh,” Auguste said. He didn’t remember that. “Sure?” 

“Sadly,” he answered. Then he made a smile. “I’m so happy, Auguste. You have no idea. You remembered,” he whispered, and then he walked out of the room. 

When he came back, there were two people with him. 

“Hello Auguste,” the man said. “You know who I am?” 

Auguste shook his head. “No,” 

“It’s okay. I’m doctor Paschal. Your brother already told you what happened, yes? You are at the hospital,” 

“Yes,” Auguste replied, feeling it was easier to reply with monosyllables. 

“It may seem very confusing, but we are all here to help you,” he said, coming closer. Auguste kept his eyes on Laurent, who was standing in a corner and watching him nervously. He smiled at him and Laurent smiled back. 

“Now I’m going to ask you to do some simple exercises,” the doctor said, waiting for his reply. 

“Yes,” 

“Can you close your hand around mine?” 

Auguste looked down, where his open hand lay on top of the doctor’s. He tried to close his fingers and he barely made it halfway. “No,” he said, sighing, and closing his eyes. Why was it so damn hard? 

“It’s okay. Can you move your arms up?” 

Auguste tried. He focused, like he could force his brain to give the impulse to lift his damn limb, but they stayed immobile. 

“No,” he said, and he realised he was angry at himself. 

“It’s okay,” the doctor said again. It wasn’t, though. He felt so frustrated, he should be able to move. “It’s normal to feel overwhelmed, Auguste. You have a long path ahead of you. You will be able to move again with some work,” 

Auguste nodded, sighing, and closing his eyes. He heard someone talking, but he wasn’t listening anymore. He just wanted to close his eyes for a while. 

Ω 

A week after Auguste woke up for the first time, started the slow, long process of rehabilitation. Every day he found himself fighting against his mind and body that had remained, for so long, stationary. He had to learn again how to move his legs without falling to the ground, test its limits, because he couldn’t barely lift a cup when he started. 

Laurent was there for him in the process. After thinking he was gone, it was even better to see him enter the room every day, sometimes during a session with the physiotherapist, sometimes with the speech therapist. There were _a lot_ of therapists. Laurent always smiled, and he had his eyes focused on him, on the exercises they made him do, so he could memorize them to perfection. 

Auguste saw that, under the façade, Laurent was tired. He saw it in his eyes, the bags under them, the way he stayed until late, a law book on his knees, mumbling words under his breath not to wake him. 

He had lost so much in the months he wasn’t there with him. He didn’t remember falling asleep and he didn’t remember waking up, he only knew that he had left Laurent alone. He could never forgive himself for that, for abandoning him, after... after everything that had already happened. And Laurent was four months away from graduation, and Auguste was stealing his time, time he could use to study, or relaxing. He shouldn’t have to worry about him, that had always been Auguste’s job. 

His brother seemed to be sensing his thoughts, because he sat on the edge of his bed and took his hand. 

“Stop thinking,” he said, smiling softly. 

“You too,” he replied. “I see you. You are worried,” he said, concentrating on the words like his therapist was teaching him. He had to carefully spell them. “What’s the... um, why do you worry?” 

“I-” Laurent hesitated. He had never saw him to. “I did something wrong. I don’t know how to solve it.” 

“What?” 

“Almost two weeks ago, someone came looking for you. I told him-” Laurent closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. “I told him you- you were... dead.” 

Laurent stopped talking and hadn’t opened his eyes yet. He could feel his distress radiating from his body. He linked their fingers. “Laurent,” he said, and he looked at him. “I thought... you were dead too,” 

“But you were in a coma!” he cried, clenching his hand. “You felt it like it was real. I... I just did it because I didn’t want to deal with it. With you never waking up again. And I couldn’t tell Damianos that you might never wake up again. It was better for him to be thinking you were gone,” 

“Damen?” Auguste asked, unbelieving. Damianos was here? Why? 

Laurent closed his eyes again, and nodded. “It’s... very complicated. I will tell him everything. Soon. I just need to think.” 

“I like that. I missed him, um... at times,” 

His brother nodded, and then he stood up. “You want to walk with me a bit?” 

Auguste smiled, and nodded. Laurent brought his walker by the bed, and helped him out of it, slowly, one leg at a time. He paused for a moment with his legs off the bed, waiting for his head to stop spinning. It was exhausting, but Auguste wanted to make it. For his brother.  
He leaned heavily on the walker, making small and slow steps. Laurent’s gaze was fixed on him, on his legs, in search of the smallest sign that would make him understand that he could no longer move forward. Auguste grabbed the walker more forcefully, refusing to give in to fatigue. He could not, he had to make it, to repay his brother for everything he was doing for him. 

Sitting on one of the armchairs in the hall, Auguste turned to him. “Do you think I... I can be a lawyer again?” 

Laurent looked at him with a shocked gaze. “Of course! Why do you think you can’t?” 

“A lawyer, um, needs speech. I can’t, now, it’s... um, it’s hard,” he whispered, afraid to let his insecurities show. 

Laurent kneeled in front of him, and took both of his hands into his. “Oh, Auguste. You are already doing so much better. You are making such fast progress, and I think... no, I _know_ you will recover in no time.” 

“You don’t have to lie to, um, don’t lie to make me, um, happy” 

“I’m not. I would never lie to you, Auguste. I have faith in you. I know you can do everything you want,” 

Auguste closed his eyes and lowered his head, desperately trying to swallow the lump blocking his throat. He knew he was crying because Laurent’s hands were on his face before he could feel the wetness of tears. He buried his head into Laurent’s chest and started sobbing. His brother gently stroked his hair, whispering sweet nonsense into his ear to make him calm down. 

“It’s okay, Auguste, you don’t have to be strong now. I’m here for you, let me here for you. It’s okay to be scared. I’d be terrified.” 

They stayed like that, not caring of the world around them for as long as Auguste needed, as he clung to his brother like he was his anchor. 

**Ω**

Damen woke up in the afternoon. Lately, he had only managed to get a few hours of sleep, usually during the day. At night he laid awake, thinking about what Laurent had told him. He couldn’t believe that Kastor would be able to do such a thing as killing. Of course, Laurent had said, he hadn’t personally done it. But there was Kastor behind it all, and probably Laurent’s uncle, even if he hadn’t understood the connection between the two of them. 

His uncle was supposed to be far away, banished from the company by Aleron a few months before the man himself died, because he couldn’t be associated with it anymore, even if he hadn’t been prosecuted and all charges against him had been dropped. In spite of other people. 

The image of Kastor looking at him with a sad expression, telling him that he could solve everything, Kastor at Theomedes’ funeral and Jokaste next to him... everything that had happened in those two days, with the knowledge he now had after the call and after talking with Laurent... it was enough to give him nightmares. 

Then, he realised he was alone. In the last week, Laurent had been completely absent, both physically and mentally. It all started one night, when he hadn’t come home after university. He had waited, and waited, but he had only returned the night after, exhausted, wearing the same clothes of the previous day, giving no explanation and going straight to bed after saying a quick ‘hello’. 

Damen didn’t have the presumption of thinking he meant anything to Laurent. In the last few weeks, he had become accustomed to him, to the security of having a home again that, although not his own, had welcomed him. _Laurent_ had welcomed him. Now, he was clearly having second thoughts, and he was right. Damen wasn’t useful in any way, he’d barely get up off the couch, sometimes he’d take a shower, and he’d try to cook something when he knew Laurent had an exam that was stressing him. Having Damianos among the things to worry about was an extra burden, a useless one to bear, and for this reason Laurent preferred not to go home rather than see him. 

Realising this was difficult to accept, and Damen felt stupid and thankless. Laurent had welcomed him in spite of everything, despite Damen not being able of giving him anything in return when he had given him _everything_ , and Damen had repaid him by doing nothing. 

He expected the tears when they fell. He suddenly felt empty and felt the urge to run away. Laurent would be better without having to stress about him, he would have his house to himself again, and would not come home to a wreck of a man like he was. 

He didn’t hear the door open; he was sure he wouldn’t have heard someone shout at the moment. He jerked when someone – _Laurent?_ \- touched him, and he realised he was on the floor next to the couch, and he was looking at him with a worried expression. Damianos felt an unpleasant feeling in his guts. Laurent should not worry about him, not anymore, it wasn’t fair. Damen had been selfish once again. Laurent’s hand was still on his shoulder, and he was kneeling in front of him, not talking. He waited for the sobs to subside, and he couldn’t bear his gaze, so he shifted his own to the ground. 

“Damen,” he whispered, carefully placing his hand on his cheek, giving him the time to refuse the touch. He didn’t. He felt stupidly drawn to him, and couldn’t refuse the only show of affection and kindness someone gave him in a long time. “What happened?” 

He felt genuinely worried about him, and that made him feel ten times worse. He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, still not looking at him. The tears had left wet stains on his cheeks and he felt uncomfortable, wishing to wipe them out. He felt them, cold, on his skin, like a reminder of every single thing that he had done wrong. 

“What for?” 

“For everything. For making you feel- I don’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t realise how selfish I was towards you,” he said, and the words left his mouth like he had no control of them anymore. “I abused your hospitality, I should have left and gone away sooner, and I will. Tomorrow I- I’ll go. I’m sorry, Laurent.” 

He felt the other boy froze, but the hand remained on his cheek. He lifted his gaze and saw that Laurent had an unreadable expression on his face, one that he had never saw on him. “What are you talking about? Have I done something that offended you?” 

What? No, that wasn’t... had Laurent heard what he had said? “No, you have done everything and more than that for me, it’s me that-” 

“Then why do you want to go? I- I know I’m not perfect, sometimes I don’t talk enough and in the past days I’ve been thinking about- I've been extra busy but... I thought you wanted to stay. I thought you liked it here,” he said, and he seemed extremely sad as he talked. 

Damen felt confused. It was like they were on two different planets. Laurent wasn’t understanding him, and he seemed far away in his mind. He let the hand fall to his side, and Damen immediately missed the heat of it. 

“I... I like it here. That’s why I have to go. I can’t stay here any longer without giving you anything, don’t you understand?” 

Laurent had a blank expression, but smiled faintly at his words. The smile didn’t even reach his cheeks and it was bitter. “You are giving me something, Damen.” 

“What? What can I possibly be giving you? Problems, worries, stress and who know what else. You haven’t been home in days, I barely see you anymore, and I know, I _know_ that I’m no one to you, and I had forgotten that too. It was just too good, here. It was like a miracle that you decided to keep me, like a stray, like...” he took a big breath, trying to stop his mouth, and to stop his heart from bursting. Laurent wasn’t talking. He didn’t even know if he was listening. His body was sagged and he was staring blankly at the fabric of the carpet. 

“I didn’t realise I was doing this to you, that you had the urge to stay away from here not to see me. And I’m so, so sorry for that.” 

“Auguste is alive,” Laurent just said, and Damen blinked, like he had heard an alien speak. 

“What?” he replied. He must have misheard. 

“Auguste is... alive,” he repeated, not offering other explanations. 

Damen laughed. That was enough to make Laurent look at him, and he saw that his eyes were wide and filled with tears. 

“I thought I had lost him forever, Damianos. When you came looking for him, I thought that, if I couldn’t have him, having your memories of him would be enough for me. I couldn’t tell you he was alive, comatose but alive, and risking that you’d believe he could be saved. I was wrong, I was so wrong,” 

Laurent was talking, and Damen let out a strangled sound, almost a pained one, as he heard the words that Laurent was telling him. He couldn’t believe that Auguste- his friend was still alive. 

“I’m sorry I lied to you. But he... the reason why I haven’t been home isn’t you, Damen. It’s him. He’s woken up and he’s... struggling. With rehabilitation, with memories, or the lack of. It’s not you. I’ve never... I don’t want you to go. I understand if you want to. After this. After... I won’t stop you. But I’d really like for you to... to stay. With me. With Auguste. He would like it too.” 

Laurent looked like a scared child, in that moment, and Damen’s heart ached. It ached for Auguste, for yet another shocking thing in too little time, but mostly for Laurent. He looked wrecked, the tears in his eyes not daring to fall, and Damen understood he was afraid, like himself was. 

Hugging him felt natural and Laurent fell into his arms with a shocked sound, shocked by his reaction, that he had chosen to stay instead of yelling at him for lying about such an important thing. Damen felt the body in his arms shaking, and he held him tighter until he was ready to let go. 

“Do you want to come with me, tomorrow? At the hospital?” Laurent said after a long time, still not moving away from him. 

“I’d like that very much, Laurent,” 

“He... he won’t be like you remember,” Laurent whispered, and Damen realised how hard the whole situation had hit him. 

He dared to stroke his hair, caressing the nape of his neck with his fingers. “I won’t be like he remembers, either,” he said. “If he remembers,” 

“He does. I talked about you with him, yesterday. He’d love to see you,” Laurent said, smiling. He moved away, not by much, but enough to no longer be in his arms, still kneeling in front of him. 

“Laurent...” Damen started, biting his lower lip. 

“Yes?” 

“I... I appreciate that you’re letting me stay here,” he said, and saw that Laurent wanted to talk, but was waiting for him to finish. “But... I don’t want to be a burden. So, if you... if you could help me... find somewhere to work. I’d- I’d appreciate that. A lot.” 

Damen never really had to ask for help, because he had been rich, and rich people could accomplish everything with minimal effort. He had never abused of that, but it had been so much easier. Now, to be forced to ask for help was hard, and Damen felt ashamed. He hated how that made him feel. 

“Oh,” Laurent said, and then took his hands. He seemed to be more confident, deliberately touching him. Damen, who had always been a physical person, couldn’t really object. “Of course! I talked to Berenger, when you... when you were at the E.R. I’m sure he’ll be able to find you something.” 

Laurent was smiling, and Damen... he was... grateful, of course, because Laurent was helping him beyond expectations. 

“Thank you. I mean it. You... are the best thing that happened to me in the last month. In the last year, even. I will never be able to repay you properly,” he said, honest, and gave him one of the first real smiles in a lot of time. 

“Don’t ever say that, Damen. I’m doing this gladly, you are not intruding, do you believe me?” 

Damen didn’t. People didn’t do these things for free. He didn’t know why Laurent was telling him that, but it was hard to believe. The last month and a half had made him realize that people always had an ulterior motive. Even the people he thought loved him, like Jokaste, and Kastor. They were the ones who deceived him the most. So why would a stranger help him without wanting something in return? 

His silence was enough of an answer for Laurent, who just sighed softly and stood up, reaching out his hand to Damen, waiting for him to take it. Laurent pulled him up, and then took his phone. 

“Come on, let’s order take out. I’m starving,” he said, giving him the menus of a few restaurants. “Pick one, I like them all.” 

Damen did, and then they waited for the food to arrive on the couch, close to one another, watching a quiz on the TV. 

**Ω**

When Damen and Laurent entered the room, Auguste was sitting on the armchair always occupied by his brother. As soon as he looked up and saw Damianos, he froze. 

Damen didn’t look like himself. Laurent had told him something, that he had had a rough time, that his father had died, and that he probably would be different than he remembered. Auguste had thought about a different hairstyle, different clothes, a tattoo... not this. He looked like the ghost of himself; he was thinner – much thinner that it was probably healthy – and that made him look smaller, almost sick. He was pale and worn out, like something had drained his spirit and left an empty shell. 

Damen was frozen too, probably shocked by what shocked himself every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He too was pale and he had suffered a major muscle loss despite the hospital staff had continued to exercise his muscles passively throughout the coma. That made him look sick, his bones showing, the skin on his face tight. It wasn’t easy to look at him. And Damen hadn’t even heard him talking, or rather trying to. 

“Hi, Damen,” he said, and smiled faintly. He didn’t expect him to throw himself at him, kneeling down, and holding him in his arms. 

“It’s so good to see you again,” Damianos whispered into the fabric of his t-shirt. 

Auguste was able to put his hands on his shoulders, and squeezed faintly. He nodded. “I am too,” he just said, because he didn’t want to talk yet. He felt ashamed and didn’t want Damen to understand that he couldn’t properly speak. He didn’t know what Laurent had told him, so he looked up at his brother, who was watching them with affection. Laurent minutely shook his head, understanding his thought, and gave him a little smile. 

“You want me to stay while you guys talk?” Laurent asked, and Auguste understood what he was offering him. They had talked about it in his last session with the speech therapist. The woman had told Laurent about many ways he could help Auguste with his speech when he couldn’t make a certain word come out. He could give him hints, starting the word for him, saying the initial sound of the word, or just saying the word so that Auguste could repeat it. They had tried in private, and came out with some strategies that worked out best for them. 

“Yes, thank you Laurent,” he said, grateful. 

Damen released him and stood beside Laurent, nervous. He kept looking between the two of them. 

“Ask, Damen,” Laurent said, putting a hand on his upper arm. Damen seemed to relax at the touch, and nodded. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and then he bit his lip, blushing. “I mean, of course you aren’t but... How... how are you feeling?” 

“It’s okay,” Auguste said. “I have, um... it’s hard to... I have-” 

“Language dif...?” Laurent helped. 

“Language difficulties, now. It’s hard to, um, talk, for long. I can think words but they... don’t come out. It’s strange.” 

“He’s better now. He’s making such incredible progress with his speech therapist. Two weeks ago he wouldn’t have been able to say half the words he’s saying now,” Laurent supplied for him. 

“Yes. She says I can... uhm... I can...” 

Laurent pronounced a long ‘r’, to help him remember the word. 

“Recover. Whole.” 

“Fully. She says you can fully recover, in time, and if you keep working on it daily,” Laurent said, and the he turned to Damen, who hadn’t said a word during the exchange and looked a little startled. Auguste knew it was strange, seeing them interact like that, but it was the only way he could communicate. 

“That’s amazing!” Damen said, smiling, and Auguste didn’t expect that reaction. “You’ve always been resilient, Auguste. I know this won’t stop you either.” 

“Thank you. Do you want to ask more?” 

“Uhm, no. I mean... are you able to walk? You are not on the bed,” 

Auguste nodded. “Yes. It’s... hard. Um, my muscles are... learning. Like me. I was weak when I woke and, um... I am working with... a, um, a muscle, um...” 

“A physiotherapist,” Laurent said. 

“A physiotherapist, yes. He helps, a lot. I can walk alone, now. No, um, not alone, um... with help,” he said, and he exhaled heavily, a little irritated that he couldn’t explain himself. 

“He can use a walker, now, but he absolutely can’t leave the bed alone. There must be always someone with him, the nurse staff, the physiotherapist or myself. He could fall and injure himself. But, when he uses the walker, he can mostly do it by himself,” Laurent explained, and Damen nodded. 

“I walk short, um...” 

“Dis...?” 

“Distances. Short distances, and then I feel tired. So, I stop and sit down. Then I go again. I, um... build muscles like this,” 

“I understand,” said Damen, and then he fell silent. “It’s good. Great, actually. You are so strong, Auguste.” 

Somewhere, while they spoke, Damen had become pensive; still, he forced himself not to show it, and put another smile on his face. 

“I wanted to ask you a thing,” said Auguste. “What happened to you?” 

Damen was startled, like he didn’t expect to be asked such a question. He didn’t love to talk about it. He just shrugged his shoulders. 

“My father died. Well, Kastor not so subtly hinted that he was murdered by him. Well, maybe not personally, but… yeah. And I was conveniently disowned, so I fled here, where I thought I would find you and ask you to help me. Instead, I found your brother who told me you were dead and then I left him but he found me again at the E.R. and so I stayed because I was beaten up pretty bad, and then he told me you were not dead and here I am,” Damen said, not looking at Auguste nor Laurent, his eyes fixed on the grey floor of the room, his voice flat and unemotional. 

If he had looked up, he would have seen the two brothers exchange a strange, worried look but fortunately neither of them had the chance to speak, because there was knock on the door and it opened, revealing the figure of a familiar man. 

Jord looked startled to see him there, but his attention was immediately focused on the other man in the room, who too was staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Auguste…” Jord whispered, and then ran to hug him, just like Damianos had done minutes earlier, but with the eagerness and the emotion of a real friend. Jord was telling something to the man, and they exchanged a teary laugh. 

Damen left the room silently, not wanting to intrude. Laurent was talking with Jord, too, so he was alone. He wandered through the corridors of the hospital until he found an open door who led to a balcony, probably meant for staff to go smoking. The freezing air hit his face and he breathed it in, closing his eyes and trying not to let the tears pooling in his eyes fall. 

He was alone, and he kept forgetting it. The thought hit him in the most inappropriate moments, moments in which he should have been happy, or at least content. He could not even be glad to have found his former friend again, because his mind was dim, almost dark, and it kept shutting out every one of his feelings and emotions until nothing remained but the bad ones. He looked down the balcony and wished he could fly. 

Then, he realised it was snowing. It was almost Christmas, and it was the first one of many that he would spend alone. The tremendous yearning of going away and leaving Laurent with his family was back, crawling under his skin and settling deep into his bones. But he had told Laurent he wouldn’t, that he would stay, and work to improve his shitty life. 

He could not think about the future because it would just give him anxiety, and he really didn’t want to risk having a panic attack on the balcony of a hospital. He kept looking at the big snowflakes falling, an eerie calm setting in over the roots of the buildings nearby. It was peaceful, but slightly unsettling, reflecting the emotions he was feeling. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed until the door opened again and another person joined him. He strangely didn’t have to turn to know who they were. Laurent just took his hand, gently and softly, and held it silently, and neither felt the need to speak. They just stayed there, Laurent giving Damen the silent comfort he didn’t know he needed, with his blond head resting on his upper arm, and he accepted the gesture gladly, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through his chest, easing the pain of his mind. 

**Ω**

Laurent was still in bed when his phone rang. He checked the time and realised he had missed class. It was a surprise, because he never missed them, even when he was tired and he would give anything to stay in bed for another hour. The only plausible excuse he accepted for himself was if he was sick, which he hadn’t been for so many years, since he was twelve, probably. 

Looking at the caller ID, he saw it was Berenger. He awakened immediately. 

“It’s Laurent,” he said as his usual greeting. 

“Hello,” Berenger answered, and his voice was soft and low. 

“Why do you whisper? Is Red still in dreamland?” 

“Don’t call him like that,” the man said, but there was no real anger in his voice. He was way too used to Laurent’s behaviour. 

“Sorry. But is he?” 

“Yeah. But Ancel’s state of consciousness is not the reason why I called,” Berenger said, and Laurent heard the ruffling of the sheets and a door closing. “I have news.” 

“On which topic?” Laurent held his breath. His morning could suddenly change for better or worse, and it all depended on Berenger’s answer. 

“Work,” he answered. 

“Good. Thank you, I appreciate what you’re doing for me,” Laurent said, honestly. Berenger’s had always been more friends with Auguste than him, also because the age difference that couldn’t be ignored, but he never made him feel... younger. He genuinely enjoyed his company when he was a teenager and he did now that he had grown up. Laurent had learned to love him. “So, what did you find?” 

“I had some contacts here and there, and I asked for favours. I found three places available to hire someone with Damianos’ requirements. No experience, first job, nothing too tiring, as you had asked me. I assumed that lifting some boxes full of books was okay, though,” 

“You found him a job at a bookstore?” Laurent said, smiling to himself. He found it surprisingly fitting for someone like Damen. 

“Yes, and a library. They are understaffed and desperate for someone to help them. The last place is a small coffeeshop near the centre. I know the owner,” Berenger explained. “Let me know what he prefers and I’ll set the interview. It’s just a formality, actually. He’ll already have the job as soon as he goes there to meet the owner.” 

“That’s great! Damen will love it...” Laurent said, and he heard Berenger laughing. “Why are you laughing?” 

“It’s just... you. How you act when he’s involved. I haven’t even seen you two interact in person, but I can already tell you care about him a lot. And you don’t really care about a lot of people like that,” Berenger said, calmly. 

Laurent hummed. Berenger hadn’t insulted him, because it was true. He had some trust issues, which he had been working on for years, and he had just come to an acceptance for that part of himself. He had a few, selected friends that he knew he could completely trust, and he treated them almost like family. Almost, because there was no one that could overcome the feelings he felt for his brother, his only remaining family member and the only man he had always and completely trusted. 

“Yeah, I mean... he’s so lost. I think I understand him, how he’s feeling, even if it isn’t for the same reasons. He’s going through a lot of shit, and I just want to help him feel better about something in his life. He needs a purpose, or... I don’t know what. I don’t want him to have any more problems. Not if I can help it,” 

Berenger made a small sound, and then spoke. “You’re a good person. This is what people love about you,” 

“Not my bitchy personality?” Laurent joked. 

“Nah,” Berenger said. “You only use that when you feel angry or overwhelmed, and only with people you don’t know. Or most of them,” Berenger hinted. 

“Why do you know me so well?” 

“Because I’m basically your second brother, Laurent. And I love you, and I... I know who you are, and you are wonderful,” 

“Ok, shut up now,” Laurent said, feeling himself go red. “Speaking of brothers... why haven’t you gone to Auguste’s yet? He misses you.” 

“I know. Tell him I’m sorry,” Berenger sighed. “I’m outside of the city and this case is killing me. I swear I couldn’t bear it if it wasn’t for Ancel.” 

“Oh, I know how he helps you handle this situation,” Laurent smirked. 

“Now you shut up! You know he’s just my assistant. I would never... he’s just... he’s so young. How can you..!” 

“Relax, Berenger. I was only joking,” Laurent said. He wasn’t joking. He had seen Ancel try to seduce Berenger so many times in the last two years it was frankly embarrassing. The man just needed to stop worrying about appearances and let himself go. Ancel was so blatantly in love with Berenger that it hurt. And, if he knew Berenger, he had some feelings for him, too. He just had to admit it. 

“Whatever. I need to go. He’s awake and we have work to do. Let me know what he decides, okay?” 

“Sure. Thank you again,” Laurent said, and ended the call. 

Since it was still relatively early, he decided that Damen and him would go out for breakfast. The man was already awake, sitting at the counter and looking at his glass of water like it had the answers to all the fundamental questions in the universe. 

“Good morning, Damen,” Laurent said, smiling at him. He was happy. “We are going out.” 

“Are we?” Damen said, turning to look at him with a confused expression. 

“Yes. We need a good breakfast to start the day,” 

“What happened? Why are you so happy?” 

Laurent just smiled, and shook his head. “No, I will only talk with a cup of tea and a croissant in front of me,” he said. “Now go shower and dress, we’ll go out in 30 minutes.” 

**Ω**

Damen didn’t like tea so much, so he chose to have a savory breakfast with eggs and ham and cheese, and orange juice. In fact, when Damen realized that Laurent was going to pay for it, he had decided to have just a cup of coffee, the cheapest thing on the menu, but Laurent had looked at him with an intense look, and forced him to choose what he really wanted to eat. It didn’t make Damen feel good, though. 

When the food arrived, Laurent sipped at his tea, while Damen dug into his breakfast. He hadn’t realised he was so hungry. He couldn’t see it, but Laurent was looking at him with soft eyes and a softer smile, hidden behind the cup, as if he was extremely happy just for him to be eating. 

Halfway the breakfast, Damen looked at Laurent, sipping his juice. “So, what’s the good news?” 

Laurent smiled wide. “I know you feel bad about me paying everything, so... next time we’ll go out for breakfast, you’ll pay for me,” 

Damen blinked. “What?” 

Laurent rolled his eyes. God, he was so dense. “I found you a job,” he grinned. 

Damen stayed silent for a moment. Then Laurent’s words hit him at full force and he widened his eyes. “You’re serious?” 

“Of course I am. Well, Berenger actually did it. And he found you three places. You just have to decide,” 

Laurent began to discuss about all three jobs, their positions in the city and his thoughts on each of them. Laurent definitely preferred the bookstore, because he had googled it and it was small and "lovely" in his opinion. He seemed even more excited than Damen himself, who would have accepted everything if it meant he could repay him. 

He felt overwhelmed and, once again, he felt tears pool in his eyes. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop them from falling, and Laurent stopped speaking. He stayed silent for some seconds before he spoke again. 

“What’s the problem? You don’t like them?” he asked, and Damen laughed. He actually let out a small and teary laugh and he shook his head. 

“I love them, each one of them. I can’t believe you... you actually did this for me,” 

“I didn’t actually –” Laurent started, but Damen looked at him in the eyes. 

“Shut up. You know what I mean,” 

Laurent’s eyes softened and Damen swore his cheeks were slightly redder than before. Laurent looked beautiful like that. 

They chatted while they finished their breakfast, and at the end Damen told him what he preferred. 

He chose the bookstore. 

**Ω**

As soon as they arrived home, they understood that something was wrong. The door was slightly open but, when they stepped inside of the apartment, everything was in order. Not even a pillow was out of place. Still, Damen had a feeling something wasn’t right, except for the obvious break-in. It didn’t make sense that whoever broke in didn’t steal anything. It was evident that many things in the house were of value, yet nothing had been taken. 

It was when they entered Laurent’s room that Damen realized why. It was a disaster. The blankets were torn to pieces, the books were thrown to the ground. The most shocking thing, however, was the photograph that had been laid on the bed, almost framed by the damage all around. 

The image represented the body of a boy, curled up on a bed with crimson blankets. A hand was between his legs, hidden, and it was clearly the hand of an adult man. The boy had his eyes closed, and his skin was pale, diaphanous, except for a purplish patch on his uncovered side. His blond hair covered his face with what little it took to make him unrecognizable, but Damen somehow knew immediately who he was, and he froze. Even if he didn’t understand it, the phrase written under the photo with a red felt-tip pen was impossible to misunderstand. 

_I have not forgotten about you, dear nephew._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, surprise (for some of you LOL)!
> 
> For those who are not in the medical field, Auguste suffers from a condition called Broca aphasia. He essentially understands what he’s being told, but he can’t express the words.
> 
> Also, there's drama. As usual.


	5. Ghosts That We Knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I welcome 2021 with a brand new chapter.   
> I wanted it to be sweet, and I was inspired by Christmas.
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> There are some TW, nothing too heavy, but be aware of the tags.

"No, please,” Laurent whined, and he sounded like a wounded animal. He moved towards the bed to take the photo, but Damen stopped him with his body, so that he crashed into him. 

“Don’t look,” he whispered into his hair as he felt Laurent tremble and shake his head. 

“I’m... it’s not.... _Damen_ ,” he cried again and Damianos could do anything but wrap his arms around his body and drag him gently out of the room, making the two of them sit on the couch that was Damen’s temporary bed. He was unable to think about anything, he had to make Laurent feel better but he did not know how. He couldn’t do _anything_. 

Laurent started breathing more frantically and closed his eyes like he was in pain. Damen tried to talk to him but it was like he was deaf. He didn’t acknowledge him, nor he did send him away. He just stayed there, curled on himself and trying to breathe while Damen watched unhelpfully. 

Damianos stood, fetching a glass of water for Laurent, that he would have to drink when the attack was over. It felt like hours but eventually Laurent stopped shaking and he lifted his head from his chest. He refused to look to Damen’s direction. 

“Take a sip of water,” he said, with the gentlest voice he could muster. “Please?” he added, when Laurent refused to move, talk or look at him just to tell him to fuck off. Damen, though, was looking at him; his skin was pale and sweaty, making his hair stick to the forehead, but his lips were red, almost bloody, for he had bitten into them forcefully. 

“Laurent, are you-” 

“I can’t stand you looking at me like that,” Laurent interrupted, his voice in the iciest tone he had ever heard him talk. 

Damen knew that Laurent had every right to feel like that, scared, detached as a form of self-preservation, but he had never heard him be so cold in the almost-month they had been living in the same space, and he couldn’t help but feel hurt. Still, he didn’t want him to feel more alone than he already felt. 

“I just want to help you,” he said, a soft whisper that barely reached Laurent’s ears. 

“You can’t. He... he’s good, getting inside your head and making you feel dirty and exposed and...” Laurent stopped, his eyes wider, as he hadn’t meant to say those words. His eyes closed again and Damen saw his shoulders collapse into the couch. 

“I need you... can you please...” Laurent mumbled, his hands clenched in fists as he struggled to talk. “I need you to call Berenger for me, I can’t... not now. Not right now.” 

Damen nodded and stood hastily, searching for Laurent’s phone. It was on the floor, and Damen took it and clicked on the name Laurent had said. He wondered who Berenger was, to Laurent. 

When the man answered, Damen didn’t know what to say. 

“Laurent?” 

“No, uhm...” Damen stammered, and then he mentally punched himself. He was there to help Laurent. “No, I’m Damianos. I... Laurent needs you here.” 

“What?” the man’s voice was alarmed. “What happened? Where’s Laurent?” 

“He is unable to speak right now. He’s... okay. Physically,” Damen tried to explain, not knowing how much he was allowed to say. But then he decided that if he had told him to call Berenger, it was because Laurent trusted him. “Someone broke into the house. They left a photo on the bed.” 

Damen actually heard Berenger draw in a shaky breath. “A... photograph? Of... of Laurent?” 

“I... yes,” Damen sighed, defeated. “I think you... you should come here. I don’t know what to do and he’s completely apathetic,” 

“Fuck,” he heard Berenger say. “It’s worse than we thought. I’ll try to be there by evening, night at most.” 

Damen heard him shout something, as he had forgotten he was still on the line. 

“What is going on? What can I do?” 

“Damianos... I can’t tell you anything. It’s up to Laurent if he wants to tell this story or not. But... you can make sure he stays as calm as possible and...” Berenger stopped talking for a second before he said, in the most hurt voice. “Don’t let him harm himself.” 

Damen’s heart skipped a beat and he was barely able to answer with a weak ‘okay’ before Berenger ended the call. 

Laurent was still on the couch, his eyes veiled and empty as he stared at the rug. He didn’t acknowledge him when he said that Berenger was on his way. Damen then sat on the armchair in front of the couch and stared at his body for hours. It had been five hours and the house was almost completely black when Laurent spoke for the first time. He could see the way his hair reflected the orange light from outside. 

“Do you know why I knew my uncle was the real culprit behind that scandal, back then?” 

His voice startled him for a moment, because he didn't think Laurent would speak to him, and because of his tone, emotionless but... Damen could hear every ounce of his pain in it. 

_Damen did know._

“No,” he said instead, because he wouldn’t admit it even to himself. 

But Laurent was intelligent, even in pain and sorrow and he just looked at him in the eyes. “Oh, of course you know, Damen,” 

“I...” he looked at him. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t even begin to understand what that had been like. Damen’s life could have gone to waste, but Laurent’s... had been so much worse, he couldn’t even start thinking about it. 

“It’s because he did that to me, too. I was eleven when he started. Eleven, can you imagine it?” he laughed, a bitter and dry sound that could barely be called a laughter. “I was younger than most of the others but he said he liked me the best. He had always used to take me to vacations in spring and summer, and my father always let him, because he was too busy with the company to pass up a good chance of not having me in his way,” 

Laurent was speaking with his eyes straight into his ones, and Damen felt paralysed even if he wanted to shout at him to stop speaking. 

“When I turned eleven, we were away from home, and he told me he had a surprise for me. That night he made me drink some wine and I was happy because Auguste would never make me try it at dinner. He always said I was too young, and alcohol was for grown-ups. I was happy that my uncle gave me wine, because it meant he didn’t consider me as a child anymore. I was happy, until I wasn’t anymore. That night I felt... strange and went to my uncle’s room. I climbed into his bed and, when he hugged me, I realised he was completely naked. He had been waiting for me. I don’t know what he said, or what I said, but he started to touch me,” 

When he reached this part, Damen almost let out a pained sound, but he still couldn’t tear his gaze from Laurent’s eyes, and he noticed that he was speaking with more difficulty, trying to sound unaffected but not totally able to. 

“I froze, of course, because he... he was my _uncle_ and he was family, and family didn’t do that with each other. I knew it. But, at the same time, I felt better, because the sickness subsided when he touched me... _there_ and I desperately wanted to feel better. But he grew bored quickly, and he wanted me to touch him. I said I wasn’t sure. He told me he wouldn’t tell my brother that I had drunk, and that I had gone into his bed, if I did just that little thing,” 

Laurent finally closed his eyes and bit his lip and, even with barely no light, Damen could see how hard he did that. 

_Bastard_ , Damianos thought, and he felt the urge to find that man and kick him in the groin until he was sure he wouldn’t be able to use his cock ever again. 

“Laurent, don’t...” he said instead, gently, and Laurent opened his eyes and looked at him with eyes full of tears. Then, he laughed again, and it was the most desperate sound he had ever heard. It shattered Damen’s heart into a hundred pieces. 

“He didn’t say he would tell my _father_. He perfectly knew how much my father cared about me, and it was close to none. He had always preferred my brother. I came too late; I was never like he wanted and tended to stay on my own rather than with others. I had no one of the qualities he wanted in a son and that Auguste mastered, so he tended to ignore me for the most of the time he was home. But Auguste was a different story. He had always loved me, from the first time he saw me, and had always tried to give me the affection my father was unable to provide. I worshipped him, in a way. He knew I would be devastated if Auguste hated me, and I knew he would if he knew. And so, I did it,” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Damen immediately said, because he couldn’t stand Laurent thinking everything had been his fault even for a second. 

Laurent just made a bitter smile that lasted less than a second, and didn’t answer to his words. He kept telling his story. 

“I did it every time he would bring me outside of the city with him. I didn’t want to go, but I was more scared he would tell everything to Auguste. He made me touch him every single time. When I was twelve, he started fucking me and I... I... when we came back, after every meal, I ran to the toilet and threw up. I couldn’t stand my own body. He went on until the scandal. I was almost fourteen,” 

_Three years_. His uncle had abused Laurent for three fucking years. He didn’t know if he was more hurt or angry for Laurent. He only knew that he wanted to be there for him forever. 

“Auguste didn’t take long to put two and two together. When he asked me if he had done something to me, too... I burst into tears, and he knew he had. He was so angry, and I begged him not to hate me. I thought he would leave me forever. But he said it was not me he was angry with and so, he told our father and he... he just sent him away. The scandal was bad enough for the company without the world knowing the real entity of it. My father stopped talking to me for good. And then he died, and everything fell on Auguste’s shoulders. He was the only good thing I had left and I was destroying him with my needs even if he always said I wasn’t a burden.” 

“Can I... can I hug you?” he said, hoping that Laurent wouldn’t mind the question. 

Laurent seemed shocked. “What?” 

“It’s okay if you don’t want, of course. I just... it’s the only way I can show comfort. I’m not good with words like you are,” he simply answered, because it was the truth. 

“How can you... bear to look at me?” Laurent said, and his voice was once again cold. “I can barely... stop myself from tearing my skin from my body, and you want to touch it?” 

“I just want you to feel... you are not dirty. You are incredibly strong and brave and I want to... I want you to believe it,” 

“I didn’t know there were photos of me,” Laurent said, and then he stopped breathing, and his eyes widened. “Oh god, he’s going to send them to Auguste. He’s going to see me like that-” 

Laurent was starting to panic again, and Damen hastily kneeled in front of him. “Laurent, please, can I touch you?” 

Laurent was silent for a long time and then he only nodded, and Damen took him into his arms. As soon as Laurent’s face found the space between Damen’s neck and shoulder he started sobbing, and Damen held him as he cried and cried and told him that Auguste could never see those pictures. 

Berenger found them like that when he opened the door at almost midnight. 

Damen gently shook Laurent – who, in the meanwhile, had fallen asleep – by his shoulders, and when he saw Berenger his eyes filled again with tears as he stood and run into his arms. 

“I’m- I’m so sorry Berenger... I’m-” he sobbed into the man’s arms, and he gently stroked Laurent’s hair while he struggled not to cry himself. He was trying very hard not to sob with Laurent. 

“This is not your fault, Laurent, this is not your fault,” Berenger kept repeating, as if doing so would make Laurent believe it. 

“I didn’t know he had taken photos of me... what if he sends them to Auguste? Or someone else?” Laurent was speaking through sobs, and desperation was clear in his voice. 

“He won’t,” Berenger said, but Laurent just shook his head and sobbed harder. The man took Laurent’s face into his hands and dried some of the wetness on his face. “Listen to me, he won’t. He’s just trying to scare you. He wants to mess with you mind, but we won’t let him, okay?” 

It took some time to convince Laurent, but then he nodded and accepted to go lay in the couch as he and Damen went into his room. 

As soon as they entered, Berenger closed the door, and his entire demeanour changed. He stood fiercer, angrier. He took the photo and looked at it like he wanted to tear it into pieces. Instead, he put it into his briefcase with a grimace and turned to look at Damen. 

“We haven’t properly introduced. I’m Berenger, and I know Laurent since he was ten years old. He’s like a brother to me, honestly. Especially after everything that happened. I- I won’t let him be hurt again,” 

Damen just blinked at the strange introduction but nodded minutely. “I’m... Damianos. You found me a job,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. Berenger just lifted the corners of his mouth. “I... I’ve only known Laurent for a few weeks, but... I... I want him to be happy, and safe, and I would do anything for it to happen.” 

“I really hope you are as good as a man as you seem. Because if you hurt him, too... I will never let you near him again,” he said, and the threat settled deep into Damen’s heart. 

“I won’t. I care about him, and... he’s gone through so much. I’ve only seen him strong, until tonight,” 

_Except for the morning of the call,_ he didn’t say. 

“He’s the strongest person I know. He’s stayed kind, and good... even after the bad moments in his life. He’s... the best person I know. When I see him like this, I get angry at the world, because it doesn’t deserve him.” 

Damen just nodded and smiled, and then they quickly tidied the room, throwing the ruined sheets into the trash, and made sure everything was into the right place before returning to Laurent. He was curled on the couch, wrapped into a soft blanket. He looked up at them and stilled, and Berenger frowned. He sat beside him and searched for his hands under the fabric. 

“Don’t, please,” he whispered, kissing his temple. “I love you. You will be okay,” 

Laurent just nodded, but his eyes were blank. 

“I’ll stay if you need to,” Berenger said, his hands still touching Laurent’s. 

He shook his head. “No. Go home to... where’s Ancel?” He asked, as he had just remembered there was a person missing. 

“He’s waiting in the car. I can take him home and then come back here,” 

“No. Go home with him,” Laurent said again. 

“I’ll come back tomorrow morning, then,” Berenger said. 

Laurent shook his head. “You don’t have--” 

“Yes, I do,” Berenger insisted. 

“I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m- I’ll be better,” Laurent said, and Berenger looked like he didn’t believe him for a second. “I’ll be. You go to Auguste’s, please, then... then we’ll talk again, okay?” 

Berenger seemed torn, but at the end he nodded. “Okay, but... please, call me if anything changes or... you feel like you want to-” 

“I will,” Laurent interrupted, glancing quickly to Damen’s direction. “I promise.” 

“Okay,” Berenger sighed. He placed a kiss to Laurent’s hair. “I’ll keep my phone on all night, okay?” 

Laurent nodded, and Berenger stood. 

“Damen,” he said, as a form of greeting before he went out and closed the door behind himself. 

****

**Ω**

It was two in the morning and neither Damen or Laurent had moved from the couch. 

Damen was sitting on the floor near Laurent, the thick rug making it comfortable. Laurent had asked him to stay close but not to touch him and he had just moved and done it.   
He was thinking about what Berenger had told him at the phone and kept playing in his head – like a record – the moment the man had taken Laurent’s hands into his, like he was doing something he shouldn’t. 

“Did you ever hurt yourself... after?” he said, out of nowhere, and regretted it when Laurent tensed. 

Laurent turned to his side, lying completely on the couch so he was at the level of Damen’s eyes. He seemed torn whether to speak or not. Then, he relaxed imperceptibly and sighed. 

“After a few months, when I started going to a therapist... as soon as I were alone at home, I used to close myself in the bathroom and...” 

“Laurent, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable,” Damen said. 

“No,” Laurent said. His voice was firm, but not angry despite he had spoken out loud. “I need to... I need to say it. I used to scratch my skin until... until it was too painful to go further. I needed to know, I needed to see that my body could only be touched and hurt by me and myself only. I hoped that if I got rid of my skin, the memories would be gone, too. The pain helped to drown the nothingness I felt sometimes, and the shame that always followed me. It was like it was written on my body, what he had done, even if no one knew. _I_ knew, and I still felt it, and I didn’t want to feel it anymore.” 

When Laurent finished talking, he was breathless, as if he had spoken for hours. He had just bared his soul, admitted something it taken years to even thinking to say to his therapist. Damen felt so safe it almost scared him, if he hadn’t made himself swear to never run away from what made him feel good. 

“Do you want to... to do it now?” Damen asked, with a gentleness that made Laurent’s heart swell with affection. He was so careful and he wanted Laurent to be okay and it was a lot of time since there had been someone like that in his life, apart from Auguste and Berenger. 

“Yes, I do,” Laurent admitted and, even if he wanted to close his eyes – because looking at Damen and his broken expression was too much – he forced himself not to. 

Damen just exhaled, and then wet his lips. “Can you... when you feel like doing it... will you take my hands instead?” 

Laurent’s breath caught in his throat as he found himself speechless. He stared at Damen, and he saw him flush in the dim light of the lamp, as if he had realised it was a stupid question. As an answer, Laurent leaned towards him and took one of his hands, flushing hard himself and, this time, closing his eyes briefly. 

“Thank you,” he simply said, not letting go of him. 

They fell asleep like that because, when Laurent woke up, he found that he had slept on his arm, that was dangling from the couch, and his hand was still touching Damen’s, although their fingers were no longer intertwined. 

****

**Ω**

Telling Auguste had been a painful and ugly thing, but Berenger had insisted that Laurent should have been the one to do it. His brother had been angry, so angry, and Laurent wanted nothing but erase his words from his brain. Auguste didn’t deserve any more pain caused by himself. 

Together, they decided that Auguste would move to a rehabilitation facility, further away from home but more private. Auguste had a lot of money and would use it to access the best facilities that would give him more privacy and with professionals who would follow him almost 24 hours a day, to be able to heal faster and better. It was a beautiful place, surrounded by nature and with the opportunity to perform various activities. Laurent lit up when they saw the horses, and extracted a promise from Auguste that he would heal completely so that they could ride together again. 

Auguste even had his own room, almost as big as a studio, with a small kitchenette and a bathroom with a large shower. 

Laurent liked it, liked everything there, and he almost forgot that it was a health clinic, and maybe that was the point of it, but it showed in certain details, like the hospital bed with edges, or the handrail in the shower and the plastic stool for people who had difficulty moving and sitting and washing themselves. 

There was nothing that money couldn’t buy so, after a few calls from Berenger, Auguste was ready to be admitted at the structure and, at the end of the day he was completely settled in. 

Laurent was sitting on one of the two armchairs in the room, sipping a cup of herbal tea. He was curled on himself like a little ball. 

“It’s Christmas in two days,” he whispered, looking at Auguste. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Sorry, that... we can’t do anything.” 

Auguste sighed, but Laurent made a soft smile and closed his eyes. 

“We’ll come here. Damen and I, and Berenger if he can. We can cook and celebrate together,” said Laurent. “I’d like that a lot.” 

Auguste stayed silent, pensive. Laurent stood and kneeled at his feet, his head on Auguste’s legs. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.” 

“It’s... nothing. I’m sorry you have to pass the Christmas... like this.” 

“Like what? With my brother alive and with my friends?” Laurent scoffed. “Yeah, truly a horrendous Christmas.” 

Auguste managed a tiny smile. “I mean... you, worried. You shouldn’t. I wish I... I can do something,” he sighed. “I want to help you.” 

“You need to heal, that’s all you have to do,” Laurent said, serious. “We’ll think about the rest. You already are my Christmas miracle, Auguste, you don’t have to worry about anything else.” 

“But-” Auguste was ready to protest. 

“No buts. You have to rest. Promise me you won’t stress too much about this,” Laurent said. “Please.” 

Auguste sighed. “Ok. I will try.” 

Laurent decided he could accept it. He did not expect Auguste not to worry, because he had always been protective of Laurent, especially since their mother had passed away, and especially after what had happened with their Uncle. Laurent liked that Auguste was like that, that loved him and wanted only his own good, but not at the expense of his health. The most important thing at the time was for Auguste to recover, so that he would no longer be vulnerable and return to his former life. 

It was late evening when Berenger dropped him off at home. When he opened the door there was a pleasant smell in the air and Laurent unconsciously smiled at the sight of Damen at the stove, busy with preparing dinner for the both of them. 

“Hi,” said Laurent softly. 

Damen looked up from the pot and stared at him with a genuine smile, his skin darker from the heat of the steam. “Hi! You’re home,” he said, and smiled again. “I was... cooking something. For you, I mean... for us. For when you would come home.” 

Laurent would have laughed at Damen stuttering if he hadn’t found him adorable. The fact that he had spent time preparing dinner for both made him blush, and he turned to undress to prevent Damen from seeing him flushed. 

“You didn’t have to,” he said, when he felt sure that he was no longer red in the face. 

“I wanted to, you had a long day,” said Damen. “It was only natural that I would cook, I knew you would come home late,” 

“Yes, but-” Laurent protested, but Damen shushed him. 

“Don’t complain, I did it because I wanted to. Now eat before it gets cold.” 

There was no room to argue, and they sat at the table. It was only halfway into the dinner that Laurent remembered that Damen had gone to the bookstore for his one-day trial. 

“How did it go today?” he asked, and Damen smiled at him. 

“It was great. I have to thank Berenger personally. The couple who owns the shop is so cute and gentle, they made me feel at ease. They’re getting old and they need a hand with the storage, the new books and sometimes with the customers. It’s a good place,” 

“I’m glad it actually was a good environment,” Laurent said, genuinely happy. 

“You chose it, so I had no doubt it would be wonderful,” said Damen. “You have good taste.” 

Laurent flushed and said nothing, eating his soup and blaming the heat for his red cheeks. 

“They said I can start next month, as they’ll be closing soon for Christmas holidays,” said Damen, and Laurent nodded. 

“That’s good,” he said. “Everything will be alright from now on, Damen.” 

Damen nodded, but his smile fell from his lips. Laurent knew he was thinking about Kastor and, honestly, he couldn’t blame him. Laurent could hardly make himself stop from thinking about his uncle and Auguste and the photos. It made his heart beat faster with anxiety and panic, and he struggled to control himself at times. He couldn’t imagine how Damen was handling it. 

“Hey,” he said, reaching for Damen’s hand. He took it immediately, squeezing it hard and closing his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Laurent,” he said, his voice tight and low. “I... I don’t know why I feel like... like I can’t think about anything else even if my mind seems blank.” 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to justify your feelings,” Laurent said, trying to soothe him with his voice. 

Damen swallowed and shook his head. “I should be able to... to... control it. I always... ruin things,” he said, and Laurent could hear the tears in his voice, and it made him want to cry. 

“Hey,” Laurent said, and he stood in order to go near Damen and kneel in front of him. He touched his face, cupped his cheeks with both his hands and waited for him to look at him. When he did, he smiled. “You don’t have to be so hard on yourself. It’s terrible what happened to you, and you need time to process it. Sometimes you’ll feel fine, sometimes you’ll want to rip your heart away to stop hurting but... none of your feelings are _wrong_. You just need help to understand them, and how to act when you feel a certain way. You are not weak for needing help. You are not weak for _wanting_ help.” 

He felt wetness on his thumbs and realised Damen had started crying silently, only slightly shaking. 

“It’s okay, Damen. It’ll be okay. I’m here with you,” he said, and stood to circle his head with his arms, and he let Damen sob into his stomach, hard and loud until he had gotten it all away from his system. 

“I’m- I’m sorry, I- can't stop doing- _Laurent_ ,” Damen said, his words barely audible between the hiccups. 

“Doing what?” he asked, gently moving his fingers into Damen’s curls, trying to soothe him. 

Damen looked sick, and he had paled considerably. Laurent felt worried but understood that he was about to confess something to him. His heart pounded, an inexplicable anxiety gripping his stomach. He feared what Damen would tell him. 

When he talked, his voice was still broken by tears, but it was clear enough for Laurent to understand everything. “Sometimes I feel so... so empty and alone and when you’re not here I can’t think about anything but how hollow I am. It feels like a black hole, sucking every emotion left in my body. And I- I don’t know how it started but...” 

Damen shook his head and closed his eyes. Laurent wanted to tell him that everything was okay, but he knew it wasn’t. 

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Damen laughed feebly. “But I- I feel the need to tell you because... because it hurts so much, you know? I know you can understand, and you trusted me, so I want to... I want to start trusting someone else again. I think I need to.” 

Laurent just nodded, hit by his words. He didn’t think that he would be the one to gain Damen’s trust – even if he secretly hoped for it to happen - nor this early, after just a few weeks. 

“I-” Damen started, and he bit his lower lip when new tears started falling down, as he could stop himself from crying more. “I hurt- I hurt myself. Several times, in the last weeks. I- with sharp object, and... I just wanted to feel something, until all I could feel was the pain and not my thoughts.” 

“Oh, Damen,” said Laurent, and he recognised that his voice was more like a pitiful whisper, but he couldn’t help it. He was so... sad, that something like that had to happen to a wonderful man like Damen, a person who didn’t deserve what had been done to him, the depression that he had been thrown into. “Did you... take care of yourself, after?” 

Damen lifted his gaze, and it was flabbergasted, like he couldn’t believe that Laurent wasn’t judging him or telling him that it was wrong, what he had been doing. “What do you mean?” 

“Cleaning the wounds, packing them... how much blood did you lose?” 

Damen lips trembled and Laurent realised that it was hard for him even to just acknowledge that he had done it, let alone talking about it with someone else. He knelt in front of him again and took his hands. “Damen, it doesn’t matter anymore, now. Can I... will you allow me to take care of you?” 

Damen started crying again at those words, silently, but after a while he nodded, and he tried to dry his face. He nodded again, and he stood up, walking to the couch. 

“Can you show me?” Laurent asked, cautiously, sitting next to him. He saw Damen take a deep breath, and then he started unbuttoning his jeans. Laurent felt himself flush, but thankfully Damen wasn’t looking at him. He forced himself to stop thinking about anything else except Damen’s needs and wellbeing. Even if he lowered his jeans, his t-shirt still covered him mid-thigh, so Laurent only understood that Damen had hurt himself there, but was unable to see anything. Damen’s hands trembled on the fabric that he was pulling tight on his skin, and he clenched them hard when he decided to show Laurent without saying a word. 

Laurent swore his heart stopped for a couple seconds because he felt dizzy as he found himself looking at Damen’s skin. As the rest of his body, the skin was dark, but it was covered in many, red, uneven scars that looked very deep and hot to the touch, inflamed. The edges were rough, like Damen had cut the skin with a blunt blade, and they were clearly not cared for. They must have hurt a lot, and he couldn’t imagine the pain Damen had been in when he had had to work, bend, lifting boxes full of books, while the rough material of his jeans rubbed against the wounds. 

Both his skinny thighs were cut, nearly up until the knee, and Laurent couldn’t find the words, his breath was stuck into his throat, and only when he noticed a very recent cut, red and still bleeding, he found the courage to look at Damen. The man’s hand rested on his eyes, trying to shield himself from Laurent, from his gaze, from everything else outside his mind. He was scared; of what, he didn’t know. Maybe of being judged too weak, of being sent away. He didn’t expect Laurent to touch his skin – the sane one, where he could find some – and he jerked hard, startling himself and Laurent. 

“This one... when did you do it?” Laurent asked. 

Damen didn’t have to ask to know what wound Laurent was referring to. 

“I... when you were with your brother, today, after work,” Damen said, and he spoke like he was ashamed of it. “That’s what... what made me cook, after.” 

“What do you mean?” Laurent asked, not sure of what the link was. 

“When I... do that, it’s usually because I can’t think. I have too much going on inside and I need to... shut it down. I... when I recover, I am clear-headed enough to go on with my life. I felt good enough to prepare dinner, and it made me feel happy for a bit.” 

“I’m sorry, Damen. I didn’t realise you were in so much pain,” Laurent said. 

“I didn’t want you to know. I still don’t, even if I’ve been the one to tell you. It makes me feel bad, ashamed, how... how good it makes me feel after. I know it’s wrong but I can’t... I don’t know how to stop,” Damen said, and he sounded hurt, and pained, and Laurent didn’t know how to really help him. He just had to start from small things, after all. 

He stood and told Damen to wait for him. He grabbed some antiseptic and some gauzes and went back to the living room. Then, he started to clean the wounds with extreme care, hoping he wouldn’t hurt Damen too much even if he never saw him flinch. He applied a soft cloth over the map of cuts and taped with some non-woven band-Aid, and then he helped him get into some soft and loose sweatpants that wouldn’t rub the bandage and hurt him. 

He made Damen lie down; he was quieter than usual and Laurent understood that he still felt ashamed. Nevertheless, he hadn’t told Laurent to leave him alone, so he had stayed a little longer, wanting to wait until he would at least fall asleep before going to bed. He was at the end of the couch and was reading a book – or rather, looking at it – and Damen had his eyes closed, his breathing slowing down towards sleep. When Laurent thought he was sleeping he stood up, but Damen opened his eyes again and looked at him. 

“Laurent,” he said, stopping him. “I was thinking...” 

“Yes?” 

“We should do something. For Christmas. With Auguste. What do you think?” 

Laurent smiled. “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” he said, and he left with a ‘goodnight’. 

Damen fell asleep shortly after. 

****

**Ω**

On Christmas morning, Damen woke up to Laurent bringing him a cup of freshly-made coffee and a smile. 

“Merry Christmas, Damen,” he said softly, and Damen felt a genuine smile form on his lips, too. 

“Merry Christmas,” he said with a strange feeling in his chest. Laurent was wearing a white knitted sweater that enveloped him but also looked soft and warm. Damen wanted to bury his face in it and absorb the heat that Laurent emanated. 

“The groceries arrived early this morning, so we can start cooking,” Laurent said with a happy expression. “I can’t wait.” 

Damen drank his coffee quickly, barely managing not to burn his tongue, and then stood, ready to cook. 

He had chosen simple recipes that would not take hours to cook and that were light on the stomach and rich in protein, following the instruction of Auguste’s dietician and nutritionist: a light pasta with ricotta and asparagi, a savoury chicken marinated in herbs with a tasty lemon sauce, and a low-fat tiramisu that Laurent had found on the internet. 

When they arrived to Auguste’s room, Laurent smiled as he saw it decorated with red and gold everywhere, in full Christmas spirit. There even was a small tree in a corner and, underneath, four packets of different sizes. 

They were settling the table when the door opened and Berenger entered carrying a bag. Behind him there was Ancel, whose red hair matched the red of his dress. Laurent shot a glance to the older man, but said nothing and, into Berenger’s eyes, he only saw affection. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say Ancel was coming but it was a last-minute decision,” Berenger said, and the young man smiled apologetically, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “The... friends he should have stayed at had to cancel due to... an unforeseen situation.” 

Laurent and Auguste frowned, and Berenger looked at them with the usual expression that told them they would receive an explanation later. Damen just smiled and said that he had made an extra portion just in case, so it was no problem. 

When it was time to eat, Auguste stood up by himself and carefully walked the small distance between the armchair he was resting in and his chair at the head of the table. Laurent moved to help him but Berenger stopped him with a hand on his elbow, and they all watched him seat himself without any help.   
Laurent felt incredibly proud and happy for his brother, who he knew was working hard to recover as fast as his body could allow. He kissed him lovingly on the cheek and then he sat at his right. 

Damen, who played the role of the chef, was serving them the pasta while Berenger sat at Auguste’s left and Ancel next to Laurent. When everyone had their plate, Damen sat next to Berenger. Before eating, Berenger held Auguste’s hand and looked at everyone at the table. 

“No one expected to be here, this Christmas, but I know no one would be anywhere else. Auguste, you were our biggest gift and I’m grateful to be with my friends and family in such an important day,” 

Everyone agreed, smiling, and Laurent took Auguste’s other hand and smiled at him, hoping his brother would understand every emotion that was bubbling inside of his chest even without telling him. Auguste’s tightened hold and reciprocated smile, and some tear in his eyes, told Laurent that he understood, and felt the same. 

During lunch, Laurent couldn’t help but notice how fondly Berenger looked at Ancel as they spoke, and how the redhead, always eloquent, seemed to be a little bit shy, contributing to the conversation but not talking more than it was needed. Laurent suspected that it had something to do with the reason of his presence there but, even if he was curious, it was not the right time to inquire. 

Laurent also noticed Damen. He noticed him all the time, especially lately, after they had opened up more with one another and had started to trust each other with their secrets and problems. Damen wasn’t often happy, but today he looked... content, relaxed and his shoulders less tense, like the weight that burdened them had lifted for some hours. As he was looking at him, Damen lifted his gaze and looked at him the eyes, a soft smile forming on his lips. Laurent felt himself blush, but hold his gaze when Damen didn’t seem to mind. Their little moment lasted for a few seconds before Auguste caught his attention with a question. 

They moved to the couch at mid-afternoon, after they had spent hours talking, laughing and drinking – sweet apple cider for Auguste and a bottle of dessert wine for the rest of them – and then Auguste nodded to the Christmas tree and Berenger stood up to retrieve the gifts Auguste had bought for them. He brought his bag, too, which was filled with four more packets. Laurent and Damen blinked in surprise. 

“Oh,” Laurent said, turning to his brother and Berenger. “You didn’t have to buy anything, I... I didn’t get you a present.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Berenger said, and Auguste nodded in agreement. “We wanted to surprise you, and we managed to do it.” 

“I hope you like them,” his brother said, as he handled him two packets, the smaller one from him and the big one from Berenger. 

When he opened Auguste’s present, he was astonished. Inside, there was a silver bracelet decorated with gems of sapphire to form a starburst. The last time he had seen that bracelet was at his mother’s wrist. 

“ _How?_ ” Laurent asked, fighting not to shed any tears. “I thought it was gone.” 

“Berenger helped me find it,” his brother explained. 

“It was auctioned off,” Berenger supplied. 

“Yes, but... we got it back. I... I thought you should be the one to have it.” 

“Thank you, the both of you,” he said, and hugged them tightly. They were his family, and loved them to the moon and back. 

Berenger’s gift was a leather handbag. “For your future profession,” he said, and Laurent was speechless once again. It was handmade, carefully made, and it was so beautiful. 

“Thank you, it’s... wonderful,” Laurent said, hugging him once again and kissing his cheek. 

Then it was Ancel’s turn; Auguste had gifted him a dinner for two in one of the most luxurious restaurants of the city. Ancel blushed and thanked Auguste quietly.   
Berenger’s gift was a completely different story. When Ancel opened the small box, he almost made it fall on the floor. He looked at him with his eyes wide and trembling hands and murmured a shocked ‘ _Berenger_ ’ as he couldn’t believe the man was real. 

Inside, there was a thin gold chain and, at the end of it, a pendant made of the most beautiful emerald that Ancel had ever seen. The way it caught the light was mesmerizing. It left Ancel speechless, as he traced his finger on the precious gem. 

“I know you like pretty things,” Berenger just said, and moved to take the box from his hands. Berenger took the jewel between his fingers as if it were made of crystal and gently moved the hair from Ancel’s neck, who exhaled a shaky breath as the man’s fingers touched his skin. When he closed the small chain hook, Berenger stepped back to look at Ancel. 

“Beautiful,” the older man said, and Ancel flushed hard at his words. 

“It- it really is beautiful,” Ancel said, but everyone else in the room knew what Berenger had really meant. “Thank you, you shouldn’t have. It must have cost you a fortune.” 

Berenger just smiled at him and shook his head, still looking at Ancel and the way his fingers traced the shape of the emerald, like he couldn’t believe it was really his. 

Next to them, Auguste and Laurent exchanged a knowing look, while Damen just smiled at them softly. 

Auguste’s gift for Berenger was a pair of cufflinks, and Berenger gifted him a soft silk pajamas that he promised to wear the first time he would have slept at home again. 

At last, it was Damen’s turn and Laurent noticed that Damen was slightly uncomfortable with the idea of receiving gifts without having any to return. Laurent put a hand on his shoulder trying to being comforting and smiling gently, and he felt him relax under his touch. He accepted the gifts from the two of them and carefully opened them. Berenger had bought him a cooking book full of traditional recipes which Damen leafed through happily before thanking him. 

Auguste’s gift was the last, and Damen didn’t know what to expect from him. He wondered if he had asked Laurent for advice, or he had tried to remember what Damen liked years ago, when they were still close friends. He didn’t expect the gym membership card that found at the bottom of a small box, nor the five sessions already booked with a nutritionist. 

Damen stared at the card without speaking for a few seconds, shocked that Auguste had been able to understand him so well despite not seeing each other for years. But Auguste had always been intelligent, as was Laurent, and he had perfectly understood what Damen needed, even if he hadn’t figured it out himself yet. Damen had loved his body and had always liked keeping it fit, and seeing him skinny, undernourished and without motivation to go and make some movement had probably made Auguste give him that gift for that exact reason. 

“I... don’t know what to say,” he said to Auguste, speechless. 

“Don’t say anything. Just... promise. That we’ll go together when I’m better. And you’ll be better by that time,” 

Damen just nodded and kneeled in front of Auguste, hugging him. “I promise,” he whispered before getting up. He sat again next to Laurent, who smiled reassuringly at him and stroked his arm. Damen smiled in response, accepting his gesture for what it was, a way of saying ‘you’re doing great, and I’m here for you’. 

After the intense gifts exchange, Damen and Ancel prepared tea while Berenger, Laurent and Auguste talked. Auguste had gone to bed because he tired easily, so the other two men were sitting at his feet. 

“So? Tell us what’s happening,” Auguste said, impatient. 

Berenger sighed. “It’s just... he needs someone in his life. A friend,” 

Laurent snorted. “Sorry,” he said, when Berenger shot him a puzzled look. “It’s... honestly? It’s bullshit. Bringing him for Christmas? The _necklace_. You can’t just say you’re his friend. You’re deep into him and you’re about to drown.” 

“It’s _not like that_ ,” Berenger argued. “He called me last night and he told me the people he was staying at... said that he needed to leave. They didn’t even give him notice. They just left him alone, on the streets. I simply couldn’t abandon him. He’s my assistant. Yes, _he is_ ,” he said, when Laurent opened his mouth to argue. “He’s gone through a lot, and I didn’t want him to be alone on Christmas day.” 

“What about the necklace, then?” Auguste asked. 

“I... that was... he likes nice things,” Berenger said, to defend himself. 

“Berenger,” said Laurent, exasperated. “Why can’t you just admit the you like him?” 

“I don’t-” 

“Yes, you do,” Auguste said, in Laurent’s aid. 

Berenger just sighed, and closed his eyes. After a few seconds he spoke again. “He’s so young. I can’t... it’s not _appropriate_ ,” 

“He _likes you_ , Berenger,” Laurent said. 

“He... no, it can’t be. He wouldn’t... like someone like me,” 

“And what would that mean?” a high-pitched voice said, making Laurent and Berenger turn. Ancel was there, his expression angry. 

“What did you hear, Ancel?” 

“I heard enough. What do you mean I wouldn’t like _someone like you_?” 

“Ancel, please. Let’s not do this now,” Berenger pleaded. 

“And when, if not now?” the redhead said. “You... you can’t see past your own nose, and it’s infuriating!” 

Berenger sighed, but his expression was serious. “You are young, and beautiful. You could have any person you want, you deserve better than an old soul like me,” 

“ _You_ are the one you want, why can't you accept it?! And you don’t get to decide what _I_ deserve, thank you very much!” 

Ancel screamed, startling everyone, and turned with his eyes full of tears that he refused to shed. He grabbed his coat angrily and left the room in a flash, leaving an entire room dumbfounded. 

Berenger stood up hastily and called for him, but it was useless. Ancel was already gone. 

“Shit,” Berenger said, passing his hand over his face. 

“You fucked up, Berenger,” Laurent said, not helping. 

“Go to him,” Auguste told him. 

“But-” 

“Go!” the two brothers said at the same time, and then smiled. 

“Don’t you think you’ve wasted enough time?” Laurent said, grabbing Berenger’s coat and his gifts and ushering him out of the door. “Go, and make it right.” 

“God,” Laurent said, sighing after a while. “that was exhausting.” 

“I made tea,” Damen said, lacking anything useful to say. 

“Good, because I definitely need it,” Laurent said, pouring two cups. “Auguste, you want some?” 

“No, thank you. I’m quite tired. I think I’ll sleep as soon as you leave,” he replied, and Laurent saw the exhaustion into his features. 

“Oh, I’m sorry we kept you up for so long,” Laurent said, but Auguste shook his head. 

“Don’t worry. I’m okay here in bed. You don’t have to leave now...” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, stay for a bit longer. It’s been a long time since we’ve spent time together like this,” 

Laurent nodded, and sat on one of the armchairs, sipping his tea until the sun set, and the room was painted in purple and orange. They were quiet, enjoying each other’s company without the need to talk. 

After a while, Damen noticed that Auguste had actually fallen asleep, and so they left quietly, leaving a note for his brother. Laurent kissed his temple, and then they went out. 

****

**Ω**

Damen didn’t want the evening to be over. He felt like he had lived in a bubble for a day, happy and without bad thoughts in his mind. He had enjoyed cooking, talking and laughing with people, and looking at Laurent in his element, at ease with family he trusted. 

That’s why he stopped the car he was driving, and turned to him. 

“Let’s go to the city centre. I know there are stands and food and... we could go on with our Christmas celebrations a little longer.” 

Laurent had been looking outside the window for the entire car ride and looked tense. He didn’t seem to have heard him. 

“Laurent? What do you think?” 

“Mh? Sorry, about what?” Laurent said, distractedly, still looking outside, at the sideview mirror. 

Damen frowned. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes, sorry. I thought...” Laurent said, but then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. What were you saying?” 

“I said we could go downtown, don’t come home too soon. I want to... celebrate a little longer,” Damen said, but didn’t seem so sure anymore. Laurent’s behaviour had put him off a little. But Laurent smiled, and Damen felt his heart react at that view. 

“Sure, I’d love it,” Laurent replied, and Damen started the car again. 

When they arrived, the town square was full of people, colours and the sweet smells of doughnuts and cotton candy. Damen felt happy as he and Laurent sat on a bench and just stayed silent for a while, looking at people walking. 

Then, Damen stood up. 

“Wait here,” he said, and Laurent looked at him alarmed. 

“Damen? Where are you going?” Laurent asked, an edge of nervousness in his voice. 

“I’ll be back before you realise, don’t worry,” he just said, and disappeared. 

Laurent was left there, alone. He squeezed himself into his coat trying to calm his panic. He thought they were being followed, since the moment they left Auguste. He couldn’t shake that feeling from his body and mind, and it made him feel on edge. He wanted to go home, even if he knew that he couldn’t consider it a safe place, even if Damen had been so happy the whole evening. 

_Damen_. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come back yet? 

He stood, searching for his tall frame in the crowd. He couldn’t see him, and his heart started to race, his mind fogging with all the terrible things that could have happened to him, when he saw him come back with a big smile and two small paper cups in his hands. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath, and put a smile on his face. 

“Here I am,” Damen said, giving him one of the two cups. It was warm. “It’s eggnog, I love it so much!” 

Laurent smiled again, genuinely this time, because he simply couldn’t not smile when Damen looked so damn happy, his cheeks red with the cold and the alcohol. 

“It’s good,” he agreed, after he took a sip. He liked the sensation of alcohol expanding in his chest just after the first sip, and how it made his body warm. It was a pleasant experience, in the cold of winter. They were sitting again on the bench and they were close. The anxiety still hadn’t subsided from his chest, so he leaned on Damen’s body and put his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes hoping that, if he couldn’t see where they were, he would feel safer and calmer. 

Damen’s heart was beating furiously in his chest, filled with such emotions that he couldn’t even start to comprehend. Maybe it was so simple, admitting that what he was feeling was deep affection for the other man, but he felt like he wasn’t allowed to. How could Damen deserve such a wonderful person? He was a wreck, and Laurent was sweet and beautiful and caring, and, surely, he didn’t feel the same. How could he? 

And then, the weight of Laurent’s body disappeared, and he was on his feet. “Want to walk with me for a while?” he asked, and Damen didn’t think about it for a second to say no. 

As they were strolling through the stands, admiring toys, books, soft scarfs and hats, Damen felt something touch his fingers. His heart jumped into his throat as he recognised that something as Laurent’s own hand. He hesitated just a second before accepting the touch, and then their hands were linked and they fit so perfectly like they were made for each other to hold. 

No one looked at the other, but they were both blushing and thinking too hard about what that touch meant, but they managed not to say anything, only enjoying that little moment of newfound happiness that it felt like a last, wonderful Christmas gift.


End file.
